


Can't Fight (Human) Nature

by Njhxz



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, Bounty Hunters, Choices, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, Multi, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, this is not a happy story, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 106,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Njhxz/pseuds/Njhxz
Summary: On the trail of the legendary gang of outlaws known as the Van Der Linde Gang, Amalthea (Thea) is a gun-for-hire bounty hunter who wants nothing more than to just collect her payment and go home, but things take a sudden and wild turn when she gets captured by the same people she's hunting, and finds out a completely different side to what it means to be an outlaw in 1899.*Set during/after Chapter 1* Eventual Love Triangle between the spiraling mango king, the crazy bounty hunter, and Mr. I Am A Bad Man. We'll see how things unfold. An extremely slow burn, tension-building, angst-filled story. Prepare yourself.I only own my OC, nothing else.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s), Dutch van der Linde/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 149





	1. Prologue: Set in Stone

_Armadillo, 1899_

"Come on, it's not that hot," she soothed the huffing white horse, the sweat on it's neck gleaming in the midday sunlight as a result of their accelerated travel from her run-down cottage to Armadillo. It wasn't too far of a distance, but rather her spurs pressing a bit more frequently into the Lusitano's flanks that caused his exasperation. Thea ran her hand down the horse's muzzle and placed a soft kiss, "we'll be out of here soon enough Miguel." She pulled out the letter enclosed with the sheriff's ruby seal after wrapping the reins around the post, shifting it between her hands as she looked at her name spelled out in rich black ink, _Amalthea._

It arrived quite unceremoniously, Thea was sleepily strewn across her one working rocking chair that was placed on the deck of the cottage, revolver in one hand and a glass of rum in the other. Miguel was grazing just a few feet away from her, the sound of his teeth ripping the blades of grass was sort of therapeutic for her and had lulled her into an evening doze. The fence that wrapped around the cottage was worn down and broken in some places, and there was a gaping hole in the roof that was unpleasant to cover up on rainy nights. The place obviously wasn't permanent, being a bounty hunter constantly on the move with whatever target she was chasing, but she liked the songs of the crickets and how far away the cottage was from people and towns. She hated the bustle of life, which was typical for someone in her line of work. Yet sometimes when she was forced to stay in a town or even hole up with a group of people she couldn't help but show her annoyance in being trapped with extra bodies, and that sometimes resulted in unfortunate situations. 

"Miss? Letter for you." The old man's voice seemed to intrude her thoughts quicker than she would have expected, and she shot her arm up and flicked her gun at him. 

"Watch it!" The mailman ducked behind a fence post, "Easy there lady, I'm just deliverin' the mail." 

Thea stood and lowered her gun, her instincts and past experiences told her that there definitely was something funny going on. She never got mail, always going to post offices to grab the nearest bounty poster tacked to the wall. Yet her experiences also told her to see what was going to happen. "Oh, my bad sir, I'll take that from you." Her legs faltered a bit as she stood and walked over to where he was hunching, beaming a quick smile to ease up his surprise. He grunted and stood back up, dusting off his worn jacket and pants and straitening his cap. "Sheriff expects you to come and see im', pretty quickly I suppose." 

"Thank you." She turned and made her way back to the porch as the mailman gathered himself and mounted his mule, leaving as hastily as he could. She stifled a chuckle at what just happened, shifting her gaze to her horse who seemed completely unfazed. She inspected the letter, saw the seal and her name written in ink, and her chest tightened. It seemed odd that the sheriff of Armadillo would send mail to a bounty hunter like this, being well aware that she would've been in town anyway looking for work. Thea wondered if something was wrong, if she was in trouble, if someone she knew had died, if and only if. Grabbing the glass of rum she placed on the rocking chair and emptying it down her throat, the sweet bitterness falling into her empty stomach with an all too familiar burning sensation. She was a lightweight and that hadn't changed since becoming a bounty hunter, but it came with the job. Knowing the dizziness and clumsiness would set in a matter of minutes, she turned back around and took a long stare at the darkening twilight sky, stars beginning to peek out from under the sun's watchful gaze. The crickets began their orchestra and Miguel had slumbered off into the corner and was sleeping, emitting long and drawn out breaths. Night was falling, and Thea wasn't sure what the following day would bring. She turned back and entered the cottage, shutting the creaking door behind her for the last time. She would go to Armadillo tomorrow, find out what the sheriff wants, it was probably a warning of her heinous behavior or some other sort, pick up another bounty and be on her merry way. She was sure of it. 

* * *

"They want me to get _who?_ " 

"Well, preferably, the infamous Dutch Van Der Linde, but lookin' at you, maybe one of his mutts would suffice." Dean Hugh shot a smirk and tipped his sloping hat upwards so he could see Thea's reaction. He was lucky his goons were standing around him, otherwise she would've knocked that look off his face with a bullet. He was newly appointed sheriff, only cause the previous one died in a shootout with the Bollard Twins gang. "It's not right for a woman to be a bounty hunter miss, you'd get all caught up in your vapors fore' you even could catch the bounty." The smirk grew wider, and her trigger finger itched harder. 

"Who sent it?" Thea tried not to make eye contact by looking out the dirty window at the town, watching people make their daily rounds of going into the general store or the saloon. Dean slumped in his chair and followed her gaze out the window, scratching his chin. "Some fellers in Blackwater, they payin' a high price for you to capture one of the members to get em' to talk." 

The Blackwater Massacre and the Van Der Linde gang, she read about it in the paper but she never would've dreamed to be asked by high and mighty people from there to go after them. It all seemed like a joke, like maybe this was Dean's way of getting under her skin. Yet when she looked at the formal letter and the drawings of the alleged members that the people from Blackwater sent, she knew it was real. Her work must've reached their ears and she guessed they must've been pretty desperate to call out to a lady bounty hunter to find and capture members of the gang, or the leader himself. "Shit." She muttered, sweat beginning to pool in her palms as she read and re-read the letter. _Find and capture Dutch Van Der Linde, and/or any collaborating members of his gang and you will be compensated generously. You must get them to talk about their offences and involvement in the Blackwater Massacre by means of violence and threats, and deliver the person to any nearby sheriff who will safely transport the alleged back to Blackwater to be hanged._ Surely they must know that this isn't a one person job? How could she ever carry out a task like this without getting found out and instantly killed? 

"Youse turnin' a bit white lady. Just say the word and I'll send a letter back that you can't do it." 

"No. I'll do it." Thea slammed her hand on the desk and grabbed the letter along with the pencil renderings of the gang members, "I'm getting that money." 

"Yer' gonna die. They'll sure as shit kill ya," One of Dean's goons ran his eyes over her body, "if they don't rough ya up first." 

Thea reached for her holster, but Dean quickly silenced the man who made the statement with an intense glare before turning back to her. "If you're accepting, then you gotta know the terms. You gotta write back to the address posted in the letter with every advancement you've made with the bounty," He tapped his index finger on the desk after each word for pronunciation, "and they'll send back some money to keep you goin'. The letter has their last known location as in them mountains up North, but they could've moved down. You gotta find em' in due time lady or you'll be in trouble." His whole demeanor seemed to shift from snarky bastard to serious sheriff, maybe because he didn't expect that kind of reaction from her. 

She sighed and reconsidered, biting her inner cheek with frustration. This was a task with an insurmountable weight on her shoulders, _the_ Dutch Van Der Linde and his gang of bloodthirsty outlaws. All she needed was one person, just one person within their ranks that she can hogtie and get to the nearest sheriff's and she would be rich beyond measure. Could she handle it? Risk being killed, or worse, held prisoner? Nobody would barter for her life, she had no one. The people in Blackwater would just hire another bounty hunter to do the job she couldn't, and they would most likely succeed. Although she was mostly successful in her past bounties, all it took was some infiltration and mind games, which was one of the tricks up her sleeve that usually worked. Yet those were solo men on the run from the law, these people are a group which makes it ten times harder for someone like her to be able to get in. 

"Do you understand?" Dean's voice cut into her thoughts, and Thea realized her cheek felt sore from the pressure of her teeth. 

"I-" 

"It's yes or no lady, make up your mind." 

"Yes." 

Dean smiled, it wasn't one of sincerity, it was a challenge. He wanted her to say yes, so she could get annihilated and he could throw her body parts in the river. It was obvious that he was shocked just as much as she was to find out that the rich people from Blackwater hired her for a job as big as this, but there was a psychology to it that he just couldn't understand. This couldn't be the first time they sent over bounty hunters after the gang, and to Thea's guess they were men, big and burly. Each one of them were probably stricken down due to lack of second thought, but maybe, and all it ever took was a maybe, a female bounty hunter might have a better chance of getting closer to them more than her male counterparts ever could. "I'll set off North as soon as I get my bearings." She turned towards the door and swung it wide open, stepping halfway through before looking back at the men staring at her with a mix of emotions she didn't have the patience to decipher, "Have a nice day gentlemen." 

Her spurs rattled against the wooden planks of the sheriff's office as Thea made her way down the steps towards where Miguel was hitched. She never would've guessed yesterday evening when she received the summons to Armadillo that she would accept to chasing down the Van Der Linde gang. Life and it's surprises. 

Upon entering the general store she was greeted by the shopkeeper as she quickly set down a small wad of bills and made her way around the store grabbing canned, smoked, and fresh food off the shelves and stuffing them into her arms, she made a mental note to pick up bullets for when she entered one of the towns up North. As Thea was grabbing the last of her essential items, her eyes flew past a glittering purple necklace, and she stopped and turned back to it. It was a crystal of some sort, and it looked like it was shaved down from it's original shape in a rather unprofessional way. There were still some marks left behind of it's previous form, but nonetheless it was still beautiful. "How much for this?" She asked the shopkeeper. 

"Oh, my wife made that. She wanted me to sell it for a good price so we can fetch a new cow. I'll give it to ya for ten dollars. She said it was an amethyst or somethin' like that." He replied.

Thea set her food down on the counter and fished out two five dollar bills and gave them to the man as he gently placed the necklace in a small bag and was about to hand it to her. 

"I'd like to wear that now, if you don't mind." 

"Not at all." He handed the necklace directly to her, and she nimbly pulled the latch with her thumb and hooked it around her neck and set the stone atop her chest."I love it. You should tell your wife to make some more, she has quite the talent for them." 

"Oh, I will." The shopkeeper beamed and handed Thea the remainder of her products, she left with a smile and began to load the food in her saddlebag, patting Miguel on his neck. 

Once she had loaded everything up, made sure she didn't forget anything back at the cottage, checked her guns for ammunition, she was off. Gently urging her white stallion forwards and out of Armadillo, she waved towards the dirty window of the Sheriff's office. The heat of the sun bearing down on her and distorting her view of the horizon made it more difficult to accept just what exactly she was doing. She was going to hunt down the Van Der Linde gang, and she was going to make a shitload of money from it. Thea cleared her throat and clicked her tongue as Miguel sped up into a gallop, her black hair floating behind her shoulders and rising and falling with every movement the horse beneath her made. It was going to be a long and difficult journey, but she was good at one thing, cause she did it for a living. 

It was now set in stone, and Thea was going to work her hardest to make it come true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the prologue. I apologize if it's short, I just wanted to set the stage for what's gonna go down in the next few chapters. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chance Encounters

The frequent strums of a lively guitar reverberated throughout the saloon, bodies intertwining in dance and song, glass cups clanging on one another as cheers erupted from all around. It was rare to see the place this vivacious, seeing that it was Armadillo and the usual sounds that came out of the saloon were angered drunken shouts and retching. Tonight was special, she supposed. Perhaps a wedding had ensued or a victory was won somewhere in the world, happiness was rare to find in a town like this. Everyone was struggling to live, the desolate lands harbored no promise of change, even with the new addition of the railroad. The people who couldn't afford to live in Blackwater came down to Armadillo, which was still a step-up from Tumbleweed. The scorching sun and the constant threat of bandits and outlaws made it even more difficult to find a moment of joy, that is, when the work was finished, and it never was. People toiled away their lives trying to build something up from the ground, and most of the time they died before they could ever see it reap it's bounties. Disease, starvation, poverty, they were all stone-cold killers, nothing like she'd ever experienced even with staring down the barrel of a gun. The difference was that there was someone on the other end, and there was no way it could fire without them. The latter would settle without even disturbing the air around it, killing silently. She preferred the deafening blast of a bullet firing over the tranquility of what plagued the people of Armadillo. 

Lost in thought, Thea didn't notice the pair of brown eyes intently staring at her from across the room until she turned her own gaze to meet it. The people in the saloon were all too busy dancing and singing to stop and look around, so she thought that someone must've recognized her and wanted to either kill her or offer her a job. And now he was moving towards her, donning a cheerful smile. 

He didn't look like the people surrounding him, his complexion darker and a traditional vaquero hat that looked worn sat atop his head. His clothes were nicer than most, and they were American, it struck an odd note with her at how he was dressed, and recollected her time as a bounty hunter that he didn't look like someone who obeyed the law, but she was intrigued. He was Mexican, wore American clothes, and was smiling and coming towards her, two drinks in hand. 

She shifted on the stool she was sitting on and leaned on the bar, pushing her empty cup towards the bartender as the man took a seat beside her. He sat leaning sideways and faced her, one half of his body facing the music, the other focused on her. "Too tired to join them?" The slight accent and tone of his voice told her he was educated and well-read, which was rare in this town. All people knew were work, money, and drink. Thea raised her eyes from the wood on the bar and glanced at him before taking one of the drinks he placed in front of her. "Are you inviting me to dance?" 

He chuckled, "I can tell what your answers going to be, so no, I'm not." 

She suppressed her smile and turned to look at him, "You're not from around here, huh?" 

"Neither are you, which makes you so interesting." His replies were guarded, but he looked like he wanted to get something off of his chest. 

"What do you want to know?" She asked. 

"You're a bounty hunter, that much is obvious. The guns hanging from your waist and back, and the blood stain on your arms tell me that you just got a job done." The man took a swig from his bottle, looking rather pleased with himself at how easily he read her. Thea nodded, taking a sip. It was beer, she hated beer. "Well done." 

"You know, I wouldn't be shocked if I was once one of your bounties." He stated it so openly that it shocked her and she turned back to look at him, analyzing his features. His mustache was short, it didn't connect and ran like two lines down to his lips but not past them, with triangular snip sitting on his chin. he looked like he hadn't slept, the bags beginning to show underneath his cheerful eyes. 

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Javier." He leaned closer, "But I know that I'm not on your list, at least, not yet anyway." 

Thea rolled her eyes and took another swig, wincing at the bitterness washing down her throat. "You're so sure." 

"Yes, but I'd rather you be chasing me than any of those other _pendejos._ I've never come across a woman bounty hunter." Javier finished his drink and signaled the bartender for another beer before looking back at her, the hunger growing in his eyes. Something she was all too familiar with. 

"There's a few," She nodded, recanting the times she came across other female hunters, they were nice enough, for the most part, "but from the looks of it they wouldn't take a job with your name on it, doesn't pay as much as the white folks." 

He laughed aloud and removed his hat, placing it on the bar. "I hate to say it but you're right," The laughter subsided before he continued, "but in a few days my name will be everywhere," he gestured with his arms, looking around the saloon and it's walls, as if he was imagining it. "You can count on it." 

Thea stared at him, what the hell was he saying? He didn't look drunk enough to be talking like that, but she was interested in knowing more. Maybe he was planning something, and maybe she could stop it. "You run alone?" 

"Nope, there's a bunch of us. They're posted up in Blackwater right now, I just came down here cause the saloons there are fucking terrible." He turned back to her, "I mean they're shit. Nobody knows how to have a good time, and the music sounds like a bunch of screaming cats." He stopped for a moment to take in the atmosphere of the saloon, closing his eyes at the music, which was still blaring. "This isn't bad... I wish I brought my guitar though, I could show you a real good time." 

"You came all the way down from Blackwater just to go to a better saloon?" She furrowed her brows, completely thrown off by him. There was something going on, she knew that. Yet why was he telling her all this? His gang, his possible motives and the fact that he was sure that he was going to be one of her bounties in the coming days. 

"Well that and uh, I do a little bounty hunting of my own." He winked, "the guy I was after just happened to be in town." 

She laughed, "Not for the law though." To which he nodded as a response. "One of the guys I knew from home came up here and was making a lotta noise, so I ended that. It's personal, so no money came out of it, but man did it feel good." 

Javier was an outlaw, she was now sure of it. Who he ran with or how big of an outlaw he is was lost to her, she never heard of anyone named Javier in the states who had the law after him. Maybe she just wasn't looking. The people in the saloon were beginning to wind down as the moon rose higher in the night sky, the drink beginning to take a different kind of hold on their bodies. She could see the sweat gleaning on their faces and bodies from the lanterns hanging on the wall, and everyone just looked so exhausted. It hurt her in a way, knowing that a night like this was rare, and they were trying to enjoy it the best they could. 

"You look sad, _amor_. Was it something I said?" Javier's sweet voice broke her thoughts, and she turned to look at him, shaking her head. "Not at all, I was just thinking about if I would chase you down if I ever came across your bounty." 

He chuckled, "You should. I would love to see you again, one of those guns in your hand pointing right at me." He gestured towards his heart and they both laughed, "That is, if we ever manage to make it out of Blackwater alive." 

Thea rose from her chair and stretched, it was only a few hours ago that she delivered another bounty to the sheriff and had stopped to get a few drinks, expecting to end the night early and retire to the cottage she just purchased. She couldn't have predicted something like this, meeting Javier and potentially finding out about a new job. The guitar that once excitedly strumming had died down, and people were beginning to slowly move towards the entrance as the night seemed to slow down. Thea turned towards the bartender and looked at her half drunken beer, tossing a quarter on the bar. "I better get going." 

Javier looked hurt, like all the sweet talk was for nothing. It was pretty stupid, but Thea couldn't help herself and laughed again. Maybe it was the beer. He rose from his stool beside her and grabbed her coat and slung it around her, taking note of the texture by rubbing it with his fingers. "It's a nice coat. Alpaca, Mexican-made." 

"It was a gift from a seamstress in Escalera for capturing the man that stole from her." She shrugged, "I like the way it feels." 

"I knew you weren't from around here. You really went down all the way to Mexico for a bounty?" 

She paused and tried to push her clouded thoughts away to get a clear image from her time in Mexico, now there was a place that was truly wild. It was unforgiving, and the people here had no idea what the "wild west" really was. Yet there was also a sense of companionship and love that you could never find in New Austin, people that fell within the same ranks of poverty took care of one another, making sure there was enough to eat and enough to go around. She pulled her coat closer towards her, remembering the gentle grin of the old seamstress who gave it to her, "I never like staying in one place for too long, if there's a chance to leave I'll take it." 

He smiled and flicked the tip of her hat in a playful manner, "You and me both." 

They walked a few steps outside, the man beside her stopping to look at the full moon. Thea watched as it's light illuminated his face, it suited him, like he was meant to be a man who made his life underneath the moon, not the sun like other people. She knew better than to let down her guard, but she was surprised at herself for not shooing him away when he first approached, or acting disinterested until he withdrew. With all things considered, this man had put quite the trance on her, the way he moved and the way he talked like he was trying to seduce everything and everyone. He turned his eyes back from the sky to look at her, taking her in with a half smile. He suddenly moved closer, grabbing the flaps of her coat, the brim of his hat settling on hers. His face a mere inches away, she could almost taste the beer on his breath, but then again, she had been drinking it herself. "Do you want me to rent a room here, or do you have somewhere in mind?" 

Thea took a sharp breath and pulled her handgun from it's holster and settled the barrel on his abdomen, just above his belt. "Careful." She whispered. 

He withdrew and let out a cheery laugh, clapping his hands and settling them on his hips as he looked proudly back at her. "You didn't let me down! Wow, that almost _always_ works." He was still laughing as he commended her.

She felt herself turn red and holstered her gun, wanting to slap him, "Time to go, cabrón."

"Awe come on, you're breaking my heart here. It's probably my last night in New Austin, and you're just turning me away like this?" He put his head to the side like a sad puppy, it was as if he was exercising every last move he had on her. Like he wasn't used to getting rejected, but it charmed her to think he was putting this much effort. 

"Good night, Javier." She dipped her head and began walking towards her horse. 

Javier sighed and drooped his head in defeat, then his way towards a small grey and white pinto who greeted him with a snort. She mounted Miguel and turned her horse so she could look at him, "You heading back to Blackwater?" 

He sat on his horse and fixed his hat, "Yeah...wouldn't be right to show up late to the big event." He leaned on his saddle and looked her over one last time, pressing his lips, "You didn't even tell me your name." 

She chuckled, "Thea." 

Javier turned his horse towards the entrance of the town, bringing two fingers up to his hat, saluting her, "hasta pronto, Thea." 

She sighed and shook her head as he gave her one last smile before clicking his tongue that urged his horse forward. She looked after him as the moon washed over his figure atop his horse, and could almost see it glittering. She huffed, the beer was getting to her. 

Then, as if he remembered something urgent, Javier halted his horse and twisted around to face her. "If you ever see a bounty poster with the name Javier Escuella on it, I hope you'll accept it and come after me!" 

He seemed so sure of himself that he was going to see her again, that chance encounters don't just end the night that they happened, that they were destined to occur again. Maybe it happened to him one too many times that he could recognize it, or maybe he was just flirting. Whatever it was, it made Thea feel uneasy. Whatever he and his gang were planning, it must've been big for him to take the long journey back to Blackwater in the middle of the night. She wanted to go after him, to tell him to stop and that it wasn't worth it.

Yet his moonlight silhouette was fading into the darkness, and all she could do was stare.

* * *

_Outskirts of West Elizabeth, 1899_

The dancing flames reminded her of that night in Armadillo, flickering with the severity of life. They reminded her of a stranger whose name she couldn't remember, of a moment too fleeting to stay. She had met people all over her travels who reminded her of fire; Men who ached within the convex of their hearts and longed for better days, fighting to stay alive. Women whose faces and bodies had been bruised and battered all over, yet still managed to stand and cry out for justice. Children, whose eyes would still glow with the brightest of lights, even though the things that they witnessed sought to snuff them out. There was never a place that didn't hold people like that, who braved long days and cold nights just to see the promise of tomorrow. She envied them, wondering what must've prompted such courage to be likened to fire by a complete stranger, but she knew the answer almost immediately, _Fire has to be kindled. Struck repeatedly to ignite._ It came to her from reading a basic survival manual when she was just starting out to hunt people down for the law. Strange how things are never regarded as important until a moment of clarity arises, because as someone with a life like hers, it almost never happens. 

"Was I ever once like that?" She said to the twinkling night sky, watching the black smoke rise and meld with the darkness around her.

The white horse beside her only regarded her statement with a flick of his ears, then returned to grazing. Thea sighed and finished her overcooked lamb chop and washed it down with the cool water she picked up from the brook nearby. The soft sounds of running water easing her tensions and lulling her into a quiet state of tranquility. According to her map, she was only a couple hours away from the town of Strawberry, which was good because she was running low on supplies. She ran out of her canned goods two days ago, and had to rely on her hunting skills for her next meals. Perhaps, she considered, someone in town would help her get some clues as to any sightings of the Van Der Linde gang. _I just need one person. That's it. I grab em' and wrangle em' and it's a done deal and I'm richer than the mayor._

She leaned over and grabbed her buckskin satchel that had the bounty posters and the letter from the Blackwater officials in it, she could try to get acquainted with them. Although it was obvious that the pencil renditions of the members was faulty and was probably the reason why nobody was able to capture them yet. Either that, or, they were all shot down in cold blood. Unraveling the paper, she started to look at each drawing. The first and most obvious one had to be Dutch Van Der Linde himself, she could make out a strong jaw and and it was written beside it that he had black hair and brown eyes. She wondered would could possibly make him the man that managed to get away from a town like Blackwater and take a whole gang of people along with him, the drawing didn't make him look handsome or visibly striking in any way, he looked absolutely ordinary. She couldn't possibly capture this guy, that would set the whole gang on her. It had to be somebody who didn't look very important, but who knew about the ins and outs of their operations. 

Thea moved on to the next drawing, _Arthur Morgan_ and below it his title, _Van Der Linde's loyal gunman._ Now this one looked rather mean, so she also regarded him as too essential to take in without anyone noticing them gone. She moved on. 

_Hosea Matthews, Bill Williamson, John_ _Marston_ , _Abigail Roberts, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, Susan Grimshaw, Leonard Summers-_

Hold on a minute, stop. 

She ran over the list of names again, _Van Der Linde, Morgan, Matthews, Williamson, Marston, Roberts, Smith, Escuella, Grimshaw, Summers-_

"Escuella?" Thea mouthed softly, like saying it aloud would let it have meaning. She raised her eyes from the paper and back down to the campfire in front of her, a sudden faint strumming of a guitar beginning to play in her ears. Then a pair of brown eyes, beer, laughter, moonlight, an unspoken promise... Javier. 

She breathed out so heavily that it almost took out the flames. "This has to be a joke." Her mind mulled over all the details that she could scrape together about that night, he said that he and his gang were planning something big, that he rode all the way back to Blackwater so he wouldn't be late for it, that he was sure he was going to be one of her next bounties. It must've been the night before The Blackwater Massacre. 

So he turned out to be right, he knew that his face was going to be plastered everywhere, on all the walls. He knew that she was a bounty hunter and was hungry for money, and would probably pick up his poster thinking it was going to be an easy snatch. The sudden taste of beer came up her throat and she threw the papers away from her and tried to focus on something else. Her chest suddenly felt heavy along with her breathing becoming labored and drawn out. Her thoughts were racing, trying to pinpoint a moment in time where she could've done something, she could've galloped her horse right beside his as he was leaving and told him that he shouldn't leave, that maybe they could spend the night together. He was now marked for death, perhaps not by her hands but she was the one that was going to send him to trial, which in his case, mean't the short end of the rope. She was now hunting the same man she stared at under the light of the moon, the same man who noted her alpaca coat from Mexico, the same man who had hopes of one day meeting her again. 

This job suddenly got a lot more shitty. 

Thea would often get attacks like these when the stress would weigh down heavily on her, starting when she murdered someone for the very first time. The only way that she knew how to cope with it was trying to find obscure details in ordinary things. This time she let out multiple deep breaths and tried to push away the thought of Javier and the rest of the Van Der Linde gang out of her mind and looked at Miguel standing a few feet away. She looked at the patterns on his tail, how it started from a rich white hue and began to pepper down to a soft grey. She then looked at the grass he was grazing on, running his lips over the blades and nitpicking the best ones out of the bunch with quick snaps of his teeth. Her breathing slowly evened out and the tears pricking her eyes stopped before they flowed over, which was progress considering the past times this had happened. 

After a few more minutes, her temperature evened out again and she placed her palms towards the fire, noting that it needed a bit more kindling. She returned to the pile of thrown documents on the ground and dusted them off, avoiding eye contact with the drawings but she couldn't avoid seeing his name run through her vision as she placed it back into her satchel. 

Right then and there she decided not to let her emotions get to her like that again, it's not normal for a bounty hunter to feel remorse for their bounties. It was wrangling, then transporting and it was a done deal, there shouldn't be anything else to it. She exhaled slowly and retired to her tent, deciding to let the fire die out on it's own. It's strange, that something as deadly and overwhelming as fire can be withered out from lack of something to burn, much like people, again. 

Thea removed her coat and boots and slung them over the side of the cot and settled in, letting her hair down by pulling the pin holding it together and pulling her only blanket over her shoulders. She needed to get some rest, the lack of proper food was getting to her and without sleep it would double down in a bad way. The image of Javier would try to creep in to her thoughts every now and then, but she pushed it away with an annoyed grumble. 

At first light, she thought, she would ride into Strawberry and continue with her work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first chapter! (Even though it says second, I don't know how to fix it.) I originally wanted it to be either Dutch or Arthur she was going to meet in the saloon, but it made more sense to be Javier since he sounds like the type that would go to a whole nother town for better bar music. Setting the stage for a possible friendship or possible kidnapping down the road :)


	3. Dying Dawn

It was still dark outside when Thea was jolted awake by the nearby sound of incoherent yelling. She grabbed the revolver next to the pillow and held it close to her chest. She knew it was a bad idea to pitch a tent in the wild like this and now she was about to pay the price for it. Her hearing could only make out one person doing all the whooping, but that doesn't mean that there wasn't an entire gang about to shoot up her little tent at any moment now. It sounded not that far away, maybe there was a chance to make a run for it. No, it's easier to spot a moving target, she needed to stay hidden. 

Taking in a sharp breath, Thea lowered herself to the ground and began to creep out of the tent, elbows pressed to her side as she slinked forward. She made sure her gun had enough rounds in it to pop off at least a couple people, to give her a head start. Anxiety began to rack at her body, sending shivers down her arms and legs as she tried to focus on where exactly the yelling was coming from. It was pitch black outside with no help from the moon, the valley seemed to roll on endlessly as she took initiative and hid behind a large bush. The embers from her campfire had already vanished, she had to fight without light. 

A loud stomping sound seemed to pulse through the ground, Thea tried to focus her vision as best she could but she couldn't make out any objects moving towards her from all sides. But the yelling was still there, and it was getting closer. She could almost make out words but at this point she was more focused on keeping herself and Miguel safe. 

"HEY! WHOA THERE! Easy there girl!" His voice was fleeting from her hearing as the much louder sounds of a raging horse drowned in and out. They were an unexpected pair engaging in an uncontrollable dance. He was too busy trying to stay steady on the animal's back to notice her and her belongings. She couldn't be possibly more shocked at the outcome of what those strange noises where, but grateful at the fact that it wasn't aggravated towards her. 

The beast's furious cries rang throughout the entire valley as it desperately tried to get him off, rearing on it's hind legs then stomping back down with the deafening crack of it's hooves hitting the ground. 

He sounded persistent. "C'mon now just calm down and be a good girl. I ain't givin' up on you." 

Who decides to go horse-wrangling in the middle of the night? She had the good sense not to fill him up with lead right now. Doing it would give both her and the horse some peace and quiet. Thea scowled, here she thought she was going to have her entire tent shot up with bullets and it all turns out to be some fool chasing his high. Yet with all the commotion going on, she saw it best to just wait it out for him to either get killed by the animal or eventually ride off with it. 

She could make out the sound of rope tightening and she guessed that he was trying to wear the horse out enough to get it tame, but she couldn't help the part of her that was rooting for the animal to just trample him. 

"Hah. There now. Easyyy. Third time's the charm." He panted heavily as the horse began to slow down, her frustrated neighs turning into defeated whinnies. They weren't too far away from where Thea was sitting, but close enough for her to hear his lungs circulating air. 

_Third?_ She thought to herself, _He's tried to tame this horse three times already?_ A laugh escaped her lips before she could suppress it. Shit. 

His heavy breathing stopped on a dime and he turned his torso around in a flash, the familiar sound of a clicking gun paired with it. Thea bit down on her tongue so hard that it stung, surely he was going to spot her at any moment now. Her body was screaming at her to run, to stand up and shoot, to do something. Yet she was frozen in place, crouching behind a bush with her undergarments on staring at a stranger wrangling a wild horse. She never would've predicted herself to die like this. It was more sad than humiliating. 

With a stroke of luck the horse began to jerk again, braying like its pride was hurt. The man turned back towards it with a frustrated groan, "Enough of that!" He spurred at it's sides as the animal calmed back down. Poor thing must've been worn out by him, it's own exhaust apparent with its huffing and trembling whinnies. "Let's get going girl." The wariness in his voice was apparent as he clicked his tongue to make the horse move and it did, to his delight. 

There wasn't a more melodious sound in that moment than when Thea heard the hooves departing, because she was able to breathe again. 

Natural silence resumed and after a few minutes she deemed it safe enough to stand back up and dust off her clothes. He _had_ to have seen her tent and horse a few feet away, why didn't he act? There was a good chunk of time from when he turned around to when the horse started acting up again, maybe he spotted her? She turned red at the thought, a stranger seeing her ducked behind a bush. What a crazy sight that must've been. No, be reasonable, it was too dark to see anything besides her white tent and horse. Besides he had other things to deal with than a weird sound coming out of the bush. Thea decided to go with the best option out of the bunch and roll with it, but it was too late to go back to bed. Dawn was beginning to trickle into the night sky, she was now able to see the exact distance from where the horse had been from the bush she was hiding behind. Man she got lucky that it didn't trample her instead. 

She went back and began to start packing up her tent, folding the fabric into a small rectangle, placing it inside her saddlebag along along with her rolled up mat. Putting on her clothes and hat, Thea kicked at the burnt sticks to make sure nothing could re-ignite out of her campfire when she was gone. Miguel was reaching for grass when she mounted, urging him towards the direction of Strawberry, to which he let out a frustrated snort. As they made their way back to the path, Thea strained her eyes to see hoof prints leading in the opposite direction she was going. Good, the man and his newly tamed horse weren't heading into town, she was now certain she could live past her mistake without ever having to see him again. 

"Next time, we're gonna get a room instead." 

* * *

_Nearby Horseshoe Overlook, 1899_

Golden streaks began to paint the sky above as Arthur sat on a cliff's edge, watching the succession of it all. He much rather preferred sunsets who brought conclusion; although it wasn't always promised. If it were up to him he would just sleep it all away without much thought, but that would mean abandoning who he was. Through all the excessiveness of his life, a good slumber was the one thing he never had enough of. Dreams stopped coming around after a while but it was the weightlessness of not being aware that was sweeter than anything he ever felt. He looked down at his hands and the stories they contained with their callouses, hating the fact that they once looked different—softer. It was hard to believe that they could've once been soft enough to be held against a face without eliciting a wince. But then again, it was harder to believe a situation like that would ever be possible again. 

Rising to his feet and minding the edge of the cliff, Arthur took a last look at the brightening horizon before sauntering back to his horse, muttering something about the new day. He tried to return the tobiano Tennessee Walker back to the woman they rescued from the house in Colter, but she just turned away and told him that she no longer cared. Feeling like he was riding stolen goods, he sold the horse in Valentine and decided to wrangle himself a wild one instead. It was much more difficult than he anticipated but he managed to get a hold of a rampant black standardbred who after successfully throwing him off multiple times managed to stay calm enough to be ridden. 

"We're gonna get along fiiiine aren't we girl?" Arthur hoisted himself up as the mare eyed him warily. The process of taming her wore him out entirely and he had hoped to get some sleep, but his learned instincts ran deeper than his need for rest. A yawn so intense shook his body that he had to steady himself against the horn of the saddle.

"Damn." He whispered—clearing out the tears from his eyes before urging his horse towards the direction of camp. Maybe things will be calm enough to catch a quick nap in his tent before the day truly began. 

The valley seemed to open up before him as he made his way down the cliff, the sun brightening it's canvas and warming Arthur's body in quiet acceptance. Animals began to stir beneath and around, livening up the scenery with the sounds of their existence. He stopped his horse as he spotted a herd of pronghorns still sleeping underneath a leaning tree. Ever since Charles taught him how to properly use the bow & arrow up in the mountains he wanted to be a better use to the others by helping out with food, especially if it was free. Arthur didn't particularly like the idea of killing animals: there was too much innocence beneath their eyes. He's been killing people for as long as he could remember, there was no problem in that; however anyone who opposed him was going to be taken down without mercy. 

Dutch and the others would be grateful if he brought some fresh meat, plus he needed the practice. 

He grabbed the bow, placed a couple arrows in the quiver and slid down to the ground. Nocking an arrow into position, Arthur crouched and quietly made his way towards the dozing pronghorns, singling out one that was sleeping a bit farther out from the protective shadow of the tree they were all under. He looked around to make sure there weren't any lurking coyotes or easily startled pheasants that could ruin the whole operation—so far so good. Wishing that Charles were here to lend out some words of wisdom, Arthur bit his lip in uncertainty as he weighed out the possible outcomes. He could miss and awaken the entire herd into a dashing frenzy which would be a waste of both time and resources, or, the arrow wouldn't penetrate hard enough and cause a whole 'nother problem. If it was anything that Charles taught him it was to keep your aim steady and hit the weak spots. _Get it done._

Arthur pulled back the arrow, aiming at the animal's neck. With luck the blow would cut the spinal cord, painlessly ending it's life. He emptied his lungs of air, focused his eyes and took the shot. It split the air with astounding speed and made contact, a tearing sound coming from the neck it just severed. He watched as the animal opened it's eyes with complete terror, jolted once, then lay completely still. Success. The other pronghorn upon hearing the sound didn't even bother to look back at what happened, they just got up and ran. 

Once the area was clear he made his way towards the kill, slinging it over his shoulder. He instinctively whistled for his horse while placing his bow over the other shoulder, then realized that his newly tamed horse had probably ran off by now. It wasn't unusual to take the chance to return to escape to freedom should it ever arise. Arthur groaned at the thought of walking all the way back to camp with a dead animal. Yet when he made it past the tree and towards the dirt path he spotted the black mare still standing where he left her, coat shining in the sunlight. 

"Well now lookie here, I didn't think you'd stick around." Arthur mused, placing the pronghorn on her rump and wrapping it steady with rope from his saddle. She turned her head to see what he was doing, to which he expected a startled response, but she just snorted and turned back. 

After tightening the rope around the kill, Arthur looked at the sky and judged from where the sun was positioned that it was around seven or eight in the morning. He mounted with a reassuring pat on the mare's neck then began to make his way back to Horseshoe Overlook. 

The time spent up in the mountains felt like absolute hell, uncertainty and death surrounded every corner. Freezing temperatures made it difficult to imagine the possibility of just making it out of the snow, let alone escaping the Blackwater heist that went horribly wrong along with any bounty hunters who had already picked up the gang's posters. Those who had enough grit actually managed to make it up to Colter, but with the help of those able to still get their fingers around triggers like Bill, Charles and Javier, Arthur was able to gun them down. Fortunately after the first few didn't make it back with their prospects they stopped coming and the gang was able to gather themselves back together enough to move down to where they are now. He was grateful to Dutch for keeping spirits high, without his fiery inspiration Arthur wasn't sure they would've had the numbers they have now. He was still angered at the whole outcome of the operation, as well as the fact that Dutch murdered an innocent girl with bullet to her face, seemingly without remorse. But mostly he was hurt, because the man he's known for almost fifteen years didn't heed neither his or Hosea's pleas to reason. Now they were in unfamiliar territories with the law bearing down their necks, trying to find ways to make enough money to hopefully move out west, far way from their past and misfortunes. It was all up to how hidden the gang wanted to keep themselves, either do quiet operations or make more money while also attracting attention from all around. Times were changing, outlaws were withering away like dried straw in the blistering sun. If they didn't play it smart, they too would go up in smoke. 

The familiar entrance of the camp's hideaway came into view and Arthur turned his horse towards it, sunlight dancing between the cowering trees. The foliage gave way to the clearing where all the tents were located, it was a quiet morning for the Van Der Linde gang. 

He hitched his horse at the post, letting her get acquainted with Old Boy and Silver Dollar, who gingerly greeted the black mare with their wandering muzzles. Arthur suppressed a smile at her flighty look and untethered the pronghorn from her hindquarters. There was a small amount of blood that trickled down her leg from where the animal's neck was placed, the rich redness of it seeming to blend with the darkness of her coat. He would have to come back to clean it later. 

Pearson was already stationed by his wagon, washing his face in a bucket of water. Arthur walked up and held up the pronghorn by it's neck, "Got somethin' for ya." 

"Christ Arthur. You scared me half to death," The portly man spit out with water dripping down his face and onto his shirt. Arthur grimaced at the sight. 

"That's a pretty clean kill—for you, I mean. Just do me a favor and remove the arrow so I can skin it." The outlaw rolled his eyes and took out his hunting knife, sticking it in the same hole the arrow was lodged in, widening it. Pearson began to sharpen his famous knives with quick strokes as Arthur pulled out the arrow with a satisfying _squelch_ and tossed it aside.

Pearson looked over the animal, nodding to himself, "thank you, this'll make a good stew to wake up everyone's spirits." He positioned one of his knives at the pronghorn's stomach and began to open it up. 

Arthur nodded then began to make his way to his tent. As if on queue, another yawn rattled him but this time he struggled to keep the sounds from coming out of his mouth so he cupped a bloody hand over his mouth on instinct, painting his lips bright red before shutting his eyes in complete frustration. "Damn it!" He hissed, now having to go back to Pearson's tent for that same bucket he was just sticking his face in. 

A groggy Karen cut his path from between his tent to Pearson's wagon, "ugh, watch it-" She looked up at his face, eyes widening, much like that pronghorn he just slaughtered, and she let out a shrill shriek that rang throughout camp. Her hands darted to her chest at the sight of his mouth being covered in blood like he was just feasting on raw human flesh, just like the creature in Javier's late night campfire horror stories, the ' _Chupacobrah'_ or something like that. 

"Quiet!" Arthur shushed her but it was too late, he placed a bloody finger to his lips and boy did it really make things worse.

Karen flapped her hands at him and made more incoherent noises as people began to sleepily stumble out of their tents to see what was going on. Pearson saw the whole thing and began to laugh aloud, destroying all attempts for Arthur to keep things silent. So much for the quiet morning. Karen ran off to compose herself with the other girls who were beginning to giggle at what just happened. 

The previously sleepy cowboy now stomped towards a water barrel posted beside a tree and completely submerged his head in the freezing water. He dipped his hands in and then scrubbed the blood off lips, going over it multiple times to make sure it was completely gone. He called himself an absolute fool repeatedly, letting the water rush into his mouth, choking him slightly. He emerged with a gasp, blinking away water droplets as now they too flooded down his neck and into his shirt. He sighed, shaking his head back and forth, spraying water from his dirty blonde hair around like a wet dog. All the sleepiness that was plaguing him had now disappeared, leaving him just tired. Another chance to get some sleep now gone, all thanks to his stupidity, Karen, and Pearson. His dampened hair hung just above his eyes as he draped his torso over the barrel, staring at his barely formed reflection. He kept a slight scruff since coming from the mountains, he wasn't proud of it but it was starting to come in nicely, he even received a compliment for how it 'framed his face'. He leaned in towards the water to make sure he couldn't see any signs of red marking his mouth, moving his lips from one side of his face to the other. 

"I can't tell you how tempting it is to just shove your head back in that barrel for waking us all up with your foolishness Arthur." 

"Please Dutch, don't." Arthur ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to push it back to normal, but it flopped back down. "I didn't mean for that to happen." 

The man beside him laughed softly and patted his shoulder, "It's alright, at least, with me anyway. Can't say the same for the others." He angled his chin towards a frustrated few who were staring daggers towards him. Dutch waved playfully and they eventually looked away. He always had a way of deterring people with the simplest mannerisms, whether it was for his own purpose or someone else's. If he wasn't standing there Arthur would've caught some heavy fire in the form of shouts and possibly thrown objects. 

Arthur walked towards his tent, slung off his wet jacket and sat on his cot. Dutch followed and leaned against one of the wooden posts holding up the canopy. His eyes darted towards the photographs tacked on the wall, narrowing in on the one where it was Arthur, him and Hosea. "Simpler times." He murmured, a reminiscent smile forming on his face. 

"Yeah—bet if I got blood on my mouth back then none of that ruckus would've happened." Arthur said, shooting a pointed look at both Pearson and Karen. 

"Come on, fate just lined you three up this morning and played a joke on ya." Dutch flicked his lighter at a new cigar placed between his lips, "We've all been woken up by things worse than that." 

Both men nodded in acknowledgement of times when screeching bullets and agonized cries rang throughout camp, ripping away dreams in a matter of seconds. Attacks from the O'Driscolls or the law always seemed to happen at the crack of dawn, Arthur didn't know if they planned it like that or it was just a cruel matter of timing. Either way, it put a halt on anyone getting a good night's rest for a few days afterwards. 

He laid down on the cot and placed his hat over his face, wet hair clinging to it. Arthur thought Dutch was going to say something else yet before he was about to Molly called out his name in a singsong voice, letting it ring loud enough for people nearby to hear. He couldn't make it out completely, but it definitely involved something about coming back to bed. Dutch let out a heavy sigh, throwing his cigar down, muttering something about not wanting to, then eventually made his way back into his tent. Arthur chuckled into his hat then outstretched his hand to the ground, trying to find the cigar through his sense of touch. Miraculously he managed to find it not too far away from his cot, pushed his hat further back on his head so that now only his eyes were covered and placed the still-lit cigar between his teeth, inhaling the particular earthy scent of it into his lungs then out of his nostrils. He didn't like cigars, but since this one was free he obliged. It was now mid-morning, the sun making it's way up the sky with people now bustling about, gathering breakfast, discussing recent events. Arthur could've swore he heard the story of today's already tragic event being passed around. 

_"He what? Blood on his mouth? Like the stories Javier tells!"_

_"Poor Karen! What a sight that must've been, Ol' bloody mouthed Morgan."_

He felt himself grow red underneath his hat and puffed even harder, like the smoke in his lungs would drown out the words in his ears. He tried, but with unfortunately no success. 

Arthur sat back up, letting his hat fall as he ground the end of the cigar with his teeth, like Dutch taught him, savoring the taste with his tongue. He could never place a word for the earthy taste he got from it, like somebody had grabbed some dirt and rolled it up with tobacco, but not quite. It got quite disgusting after a while so he threw it in a random direction before making sure it was snuffed out with his fingers. 

Turning to stare at the photographs, he noted how they looked more worn than he remembered. The picture of his old dog Copper seemed to be fading, just like the memory of him. The portrait of his father stared back at Arthur, the defiance in his eyes being the only thing that stood out to him anymore. Although it wasn't taken too long ago, even the photograph of Hosea, Dutch and himself looked like it witnessed years of wear on it's edges and folded lines. He pushed himself to remember the day that they took it, with the photographer who looked at their clothes like they were dressed for disaster. Hosea had been the one who pitched the idea of getting their picture taken, despite Dutch and Arthur's protests. They went into the studio and were fascinated by the scenic backdrops and the props they were allowed to use. He himself had found it amusing, but after getting scolded he managed to stay still long enough for the bright snap of the photo being taken, then being ultimately shocked at the result. Hosea and Dutch fussed over why they dressed the way they did, but all Arthur could focus on was how much he looked like his father. It was down to the same facial structure, nose, brow ridge, lips, everything. He detested his father, but then to find out how similar he looked and how similar his life was now to his dads sent a sharp pang to his chest. 

If he looked like his father back then, he couldn't imagine how alike they looked now. Pride didn't play into it nor did ego, it was just sincere humiliation. 

After a few moments Arthur stood from his cot, his hair was still a little wet so he left his hat where it was, there was no point anyway since he didn't plan on going out for a while. He glanced over the pictures one last time and decided it was best to walk away for a bit, plus the noises coming from Dutch's tent made him extremely uncomfortable. 

It was a beautiful day in Horseshoe Overlook, blue skies with a moderate temperature, a beginner's paradise. The lush vegetation spanned over the countless miles ahead from where he was standing, coloring the valleys and mountains with different shades of green. This place definitely was a step-up from Colter, but the one thing Arthur didn't like was how out in the open they were. Anyone could stumble upon their camp, if they had luck the camp 'guards' wouldn't spot them, letting them get good details to give to the sheriff's office down the road. It pricked at him like a quill in his side at how oblivious the people around him were to these kinds of things. Whatever, it's not like his opinion mattered anymore, if it wasn't Micah's or Hosea's Arthur had no say, but he preferred who to voice his concerns to. 

"Hey." Karen's voice came through from behind, there was definitely a twinge of embarrassment hiding in there. He turned his torso to greet her, half expecting another ear-splitting shriek to come from her mouth. But she was standing there awkwardly, tugging at her skirt. Arthur placed his hands on his hips, "Hey." 

"I'm sorry for this morning, I shouldn't have screamed like that." 

He paused and pursed his lips, "So you're saying it's your fault. Thanks Karen— Glad we cleared that right up." 

"Hey!" She began to laugh, "You scared me to death walkin' around with blood all over your clothes and _mouth_ and you expect me to keep quiet?" 

"Around? I was heading to Pearson for a handkerchief when you bumped into me! Not my fault that Javier gets you girls all riled up with his stupid stories from Mexico to scare you into sleepin' in his tent at night." 

The awkwardness in the air lifted as her laugh did the same, "Oh shut up Arthur, I already feel bad." 

They both erupted into a fit as Arthur threw his head back, taking a minute for things to cool down again. "How about from now on you stay away from scary campfire stories and I'll stay away from your line of sight when I come back from hunting." 

She outstretched her hand, "Deal." 

He took it, nodding, "Deal. Now go tell everybody to shut up or else I'm coming for em'." 

Karen rolled her eyes and walked off, rejoining the girls who were staring at the pair talking from their tent. Rumors constantly went up and around the gang, who was sweet on who, who was possibly sleeping with who, if anyone was jealous, that kind of stuff. He personally paid no mind to it unless it involved something serious like the O'Driscolls or the law, but when something intriguing hit his ears it was hard to deter it. All they were composed of were silly white lies, how John purposely walked into a wolf den to get them scars so people will think he's tough, or how Bill likes to lather himself in animal fat to attract female companionship. It was funny hearing that stuff about the fellow members of his gang, but he was lucky enough that nothing really bad came out about himself. Or so he's been led to believe. 

Arthur paused for a moment to reflect on whether or not there were any circulating rumors about him—not that he cared—well maybe he did a little. As innocent as they may seemed things always took off at a much higher level when it was passed around. Thankfully, he was a languid man. He relished in his ability to be absolutely boring. There wasn't much to speak upon if you never had the knack to be the topic of drama. As long as none of those rumors questioned his loyalty to the gang, he was completely fine with it. 

He made his way towards the horses, eyes traveling over their multicolored coats. They were the most tangible thing about all of this, suffering the same trails and tribulations as their riders. They faced cold and famine and guns, braving it out the best they could. Some were more stubborn than others, much like their riders. Arthur liked to think that all of the horses were equals in terms of personality to their riders, and in that moment he missed Boadicea terribly. She was loyal till the moment she was gone, the countless times she survived the odds stacked against her, until she didn't. He shifted his gaze to his new mare and she looked much more tranquil now, her tail swishing. 

Arthur walked up to where she was posted between John and Hosea's horses. She stood pretty tall, her shoulder rising above his head. He glanced down to where the blood had trickled down her leg from the kill earlier in the morning, it was now dried up and looked rather crusty. "We should get that off ya huh." He unlatched her saddle, slipping it off her back then taking out her bridle and placing both on Old Boy's rump. "You don't mind that do ya?" 

John's horse only flicked his ears in response, the poor thing hadn't been taken out much since his rider's been recovering in a tent all day. 

He turned and led her towards the shade, stopping by a stump with a water pail sat atop it. He pulled out his brush from his satchel, dipping it in the water then circulating it on her hip. She shuddered lightly at the cold temperature of the water but soon relaxed at his movements. 

Out of the corner of his vision Arthur saw Charles walking up to him, steaming coffee in hand. "Morning." 

Charles nodded and did a once-over of the mare. "I see you've got yourself a new horse. She's beautiful." 

"Yeah maybe but you should've seen her bucking me like crazy when I first got a rope around her. A wild thing." Arthur grunted, moving down towards her leg. 

He sipped at his cup, "Where'd you find her?" 

"Down in the valley near Strawberry- hey now don't be like that gimme your leg so I can clean your hoof." The horse kept refusing until Charles stepped in front of her and gave her a peppermint from his pocket, then happily obliged.

Arthur scrubbed the blood off her hoof, making sure she was clean before rising and dropping the brush in the pail with a splash. "She was all by herself too, must've gotten separated from her herd." 

"That's good, means she chose you." Charles said, stroking her black locks away from her eyes, "she got a name?" 

"Nope. Can't find anything that suits her yet, she definitely deserves something special though." 

"Dena." He muttered.

"What?" Arthur raised his brow.

"It means valley. It's one of the few words I remember from my native language," Charles ran his hand down to her muzzle, "as wild as the untamed valley."

"Dena." He repeated, "Well—I think it fits, don't you?" 

The horse displayed her response in the form of searching Charles for more peppermints, causing both men to chuckle. "Thanks Charles." 

"It's not everyday you wake up and name a horse." He bowed his head in reverence, "I'll see you around." 

Arthur nodded, moving up to the mare's face and scratching her chin. He felt as though he hadn't tamed her at all back in that valley, it was by chance that he even saw her. It was still pitch black out with barely any moonlight, he just stumbled upon her running rampant through the fields, neighing uncontrollably. It was by some miracle that he managed to grab his rope in time and sling it 'round her neck, and after getting bucked off a few times she managed to stay calm enough to ride. It was just something about that time frame that seemed off, but he wasn't one to dwell too seriously on such things. He'd much rather go with Charles' notion that she chose him to be her rider and that was that. 

Leading her back to the other horses, Arthur tied her back to the post between Old Boy and Silver Dollar. Surprisingly, her tack was still perfectly in place as he slipped it off one horse and put it back on the other, giddy that it worked. 

His horse stretched out her neck just as he was about to leave, mouth ajar and nostrils flaring for any scent of another treat. Arthur smiled, pulling out a half-crushed sugar cube from deep in his pocket and fed it to her, reaching to scratch her chin once again.

"You're a good girl Dena." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving along.


	4. Quick Decisions

Strawberry was a town that held substantial promise. Its setting catered to the eyes: quiet brooks running underfoot that had connecting bridges above, bringing the land together. People loitered around, gazes drawn either to the water or the sky. It was so different from a town like Armadillo, even though it was only half a day's ride away. Things actually seemed to be teeming with life, it surrounded everything, like the sound of a workman's hammer hitting metal or the bray of a very irritated donkey being pulled by an equally bothered old woman. There weren't fractions of it tethered to minuscule moments that were so hard to find, even in the darkest of corners. 

Thea's initial reaction to it was awe—which was expected—she wanted to just stand there and take it all in. It held both regality and humility: the beginnings of something vast. To as best as she could describe it, this town was beautiful. 

As much as she wanted to stroll across the bridges and stare at her reflection in the water, she had work to do. 

After dropping her horse off at the stables to rest, she found her way to the general store which was neatly placed besides the water mill, the smell of the morning's fresh baked bread adrift in the air. With all the ruckus that went down a few hours ago, Thea had forgotten how hungry she was. 

"Morning to you," she greeted the clerk who nodded back, "smells wonderful." 

"My pride and joy, just uh, don't tell my children that." He smiled, "Two dollars for the loaf, fifty cents for a slice with jam." 

Thea raised her brow, "Jam?" 

The clerk pointed to the shelf behind her that was an array of multicolored jars, "Take your pick. My kids tell me that blackberry is best, but that's probably cause its got the most sugar." 

She walked around the store, grabbing her essentials plus a sturdy new rope, laying them out on the counter, "I'll take these along with some bread and blackberry jam then, please." 

He nodded then grabbed one of the steaming loaves, slicing it gingerly, he then took out a jar of the jam from underneath the counter and spread it over the slice before handing it to her neatly wrapped in some paper. "Eat it now when it's warm, otherwise the bread gets soaked." 

The smell of it made her mouth water. She gently tucked it into the pocket of her coat then fished out cash to pay for her items, grabbing the rope with her free hand and slinging it around her shoulder. Thea smiled and began to make her way out of the store, items in hand. 

"Say- are you a bounty hunter miss?" He sputtered, finger pointing in question. 

She held the door open with her foot, turning back halfway. "Yeah." 

He angled his head towards the sheriff's, "I suggest you go see Mr. Hanley. There's some bad business goin' on, and I don't feel safe letting my children out to play. You seem to know your work—maybe you can help?" 

A feeling of contempt rose in her throat, threatening to spill as the clerk continued to voice his concerns, "I heard it's a woman who went and killed her husband in cold blood. She's on the run with someone, I think." 

Thea narrowed her eyes, "Well looks to me like she succeeded then. Men really don't know how to take a hint till it's a bullet in their head, now do they?" 

The clerk let his mouth hang as a mixture of reactions seemed to halt his thoughts completely. He stuttered and rubbed his neck, "I-I beg your pardon miss, but it's been days since the poster went up but nobody's taken it and you're 'bout the sixth bounty hunter whose come through here. I'm just worried for my kids-" 

"I doubt that your kids are in danger from a woman who only killed her husband, sir." She glanced away from his questioning gaze, "things like this are driven." 

"You can't just let her go free! I mean she's dangerous to everyone. Sheriff won't bat an eye cause she's a woman." The desperation in his voice came through, and Thea softened.

"I'll look into it. Thank you for the breakfast." She tipped her hat and made her way out the door, not wanting to see his reaction. She hated being made, everyone always had something to complain about to a bounty hunter. Her hands fumbled with the materials as she shoved them into her satchel, not caring if they crumpled the papers about the Van Der Linde gang beneath. The stress was already getting to her and it had only been a few days since she accepted to go after them. Regardless, there was no need to snap at the clerk like that. Thea toyed with her necklace, rolling the amethyst between her fingers as she looked back at the general store, face burning with embarrassment. She thought about walking back in and apologizing—he was only worried for his kids. 

But it was too late now, she had already made her way to the front steps of the sheriff's office, now with another motive bearing down her shoulders. The sun was making it's way up the sky, sneaking past the clouds and illuminating patches on the ground. She took note of the layout of the office, a weird sort of donkey wench residing beside what looked like the bars of a jail cell peeking above the dirt. She went up the steps and opened the door to two men slumped on their chairs, newspapers in hand. 

"Hello." Thea said. 

One of the men barely lifted his eyes from the paper to examine her, before snapping it back, "Another one sheriff." 

"We ain't got no more posters, last one was taken yesterday." The other one, the sheriff, mumbled. 

"Oh?" She turned to the wall of papers loosely tacked on top of each other. She began to sift through them before finding the one with a young woman's face on it and a seventy dollar reward massively typed below it. _Dorothy Elwood_. "What about this one?" 

The sheriff bent the corner of the newspaper to glare at her, "No new information. Presumed dead. Don't waste your time." 

"Because you two look so productive." She scoffed, removing the poster and placing it on the sheriff's desk. "I also need information on any sightings of the Van Der Linde gang." 

He slowly removed his hat, revealing an enormous bald spot. "Just who do you think you're speaking with, _woman?_ "

The anger rose in her throat once more and this time more daunting, "The protector of Strawberry. Are you aware that the man from the general store is afraid for his children's lives because of this here woman?" She tapped the poster, "It seems so far that I'm the only one considering taking it on. So, help me." 

"You're all just after money—you don't give a shit about that man or his kids, just a pretty penny in your pocket." 

She laughed, he looked surprised, "You're right, I am. And so are you. The one thing that separates me from you is that you sit here, rotting, and your money gets handed to you. While I go out and actually _capture_ wanted men—dangerous people—for my pennies. I give a shit cause it costs me." Thea pulled the chair opposite from him and sat down, hands crossed over each other, "Now, tell me what you know about her, then the Van Der Linde gang." 

The man seated on the opposite side of the room sighed. "Just tell her Hanley, it's not like she's actually gonna capture them people." 

Sheriff Hanley stared at her like a rabid mutt, his grip tightening around the newspaper before he threw it down to the ground. He began to take deep breaths in an effort to calm himself down from all the hell she just raised, but judging from the redness of his cheeks it wasn't very successful. 

"Tell you what-" He cleared his throat, "you prove to me that you're worth more than two minutes of my time by capturing this bitch, I'll tell you what you need to know about Dutch and his pack of crazies." 

Thea rubbed her temples in defeat, of course she would have to accept his stupid deal, her job depended on it. "Fine." 

His stupid smug look paired with a laugh that reeked of wet cigarettes and rotten teeth made her bite her cheek to suppress the gag that was aching to leap out, "Well now look at this here two-bit bounty hunter Vernon, it's rare to see one so persistent." The other one laughed into his cup. 

"Sometime today, Hanley." She hissed, "Why does she got a hit on her?" 

He reclined back into his chair, "We went into her house after the neighbors started complainin' of the smell, found her husband with a bullet in his brain and a cleaver in his back. We suspect there's two people involved—probably her lover—who're both on the run now. People say they saw her wearing a red dress the day he died. The family don't care if you get her dead or alive, they just want his expensive diamond ring back." 

"You know the age-old tale, she was probably laying with the milkman behind his back. He found out, they killed him in cold blood." Vernon said, shrugging.

She looked at the drawing, her round face and curly long hair didn't seem fitting for a woman accused of those kinds of crimes. Even in pencil her expression looked trapped, a secret that's already been exposed. "Any possible whereabouts?" 

Hanley slowly nodded, "We had reports come in of people spotting a woman in a red dress near Riggs station, but we couldn't find nothing and it was days ago. They probably took the train somewhere." 

Thea shook her head, "They wouldn't, not when their faces are on the walls of every post office. Might be camping somewhere nearby waiting for it to blow over." 

He rolled his eyes, "Well then you don't need shit from me. Get to it—dead or alive." 

She rose from her seat and gathered the poster into her satchel, "If I do this, and do it successfully, you're going to give me _everything_ you have on Dutch Van Der Linde and his gang, understand?" 

"If and only if miss!" Vernon called and the men shared a deep laugh, but by then she was already out the door. 

———

Her slice of bread with jam had already gone cold and deep purple began to seep into her coat pocket. She grumbled, pulling it out and wolfing it down, trying to ignore how overly sweet it was. She should've got strawberry instead.

The ride towards Riggs Station was rather pleasant, the crisp air letting Thea clear her lingering anger away and focus up on the task set before her: little miss Dorothy. She was most likely born poor, daughter of a farmer or merchant of some kind. Father never minded enough to take his eyes off of money, mother tended to scrapes and bruises, but not much else. Her maiden life consisted of never-ending chores: scrubbing, cleaning, brushing, sewing, cooking. One day on a rare trip into town she caught his eye, her round, rosy cherub cheeks and golden curly hair fluttering in the wind. A sure sight for sore eyes. He couldn't look away, gaze wandering up and down her taut figure, wanting to ease her strain. He made an effort to talk to her, to get her to notice him, flaunting wealth expertly. Father leapt at the opportunity, shoving them together any chance he could. Mother pleaded for her to accept, quietly reminding her that chances like this don't come around too often for people like them. They were engaged, then married. She said her goodbyes with tears in her eyes, never drying no matter how many tried to wipe them away. He told her that this was their new life together, that she should be happy. 

Whatever happened from then till now is why she's on the run, deciding that destiny didn't just happen—you have to shape it. 

Thea pulled the reins back, halting Miguel in the middle of the path. Trees towered above them and birds flitted between their branches. A skunk darted out from beneath a fern, startling her horse into stamping his hooves wildly. She soothed him repeatedly until he calmed down, laughing at the irony of it. "Really big boy?" Miguel shuddered and reached back to playfully nip the tip of her boot. Thea giggled, leaning forward until she could wrap her hands around his nape. He truly was the epitome of his stock, bred for their curved muzzles and royally angled necks along with their bright white coats. _A lusitano_. The man who sold him to her called it, _Spain's finest._

His mane tickled at her chin and she retreated, gently spurring him forward. As much as she knew that in the eyes of the law Dorothy Elwood was a heinous murderer, her chest ached at the possibility of being the one who had to rip her away from the fleeting freedom she has. But this was her job, she's done it countless times, why did it feel like she was sending this woman back to hell after she fought so hard to escape? Thea cleared her evasive thoughts by focusing on the reward. Seventy dollars, that's enough to secure a good chunk of land along with some property. Like a hawk centered on it's prey, she put her experience to work. 

She knew not to go straight to Riggs Station, if Dorothy was last seen there it was unlikely for her to board a train without being spotted somehow. She likely made off without much money, and if she was with someone they too would be poor, rich men wouldn't leave their wealth like that. At least, none of the rich men she knew. 

Thea scanned the environment, eyes darting to the river nearby. Natural resources that were easy to come by: berries grew by the banks and meals came to drink, a nearby hideout would be the most likely possibility of her being there, waiting it out. Patience was a virtue she must've had throughout her whole life, holding out came easily. 

She urged her horse towards the river, the forest clearing behind them and the plains opening up. A lovely view. If she wasn't currently on the hunt, she would've stopped to reflect her life's choices while staring out into the range. Thea decided to remove any items that would be dead giveaway to what her occupation was such as her hat and bandolier. All that was left was her striped collared shirt and riding jeans, paired of course with her rope and revolver. Sliding off Miguel, she began to make her way towards the banks of the Dakota River, looking for any clues of human whereabouts. 

As the river opened up so did the ground beneath, revealing jagged peaks of rock that hung over like minuscule caves, offering what little shelter they could. Gravel scraped along her shoes as much as she tried to quietly move around them, finally spotting a line of thin smoke rising not more than 10 feet away from her. There was a clothesline pinned from the top of a jagged peak angled diagonally at the ground, and hung from it was a billowing red dress. 

"s-stay back! I won't hesitate to shoot!" In an instant Thea was staring down the barrel of a sawed shotgun. 

She brought her hands to the air as the man shoved the gun forward for enunciation, although, something weren't right at all. Thea switched her eyes from the gun to his face: bright blue eyes laden with thick lashes ferociously stared back, clothes that were too big to fit hung from his thin frame, vibrant pink lips too curved for man to have were loosely covered by glued horse hair. He wasn't a man. 

A voice that called from behind the two distracted them into lowering the gun, "Kat, who is it?" 

Thea made quick work of the opportunity, wrenching the gun from their hands and knocking them into the ground with a swift kick. "Stay down!" She shouted, now pointing the shotgun right in the center of their forehead. 

"Hey! Stop!" The woman from the cave began running towards them, golden curls falling loose from their braids. 

Thea grabbed Kat's collar and lifted, now bringing the shotgun to the side of their head as the woman in front stopped dead in her tracks, "Another step and I'll shoot." 

"Please, let her go! I'll go with you—just don't hurt her." She called, the wind distorting the intensity of her voice. 

Kat struggled beneath Thea's grip, "No Dorothy, you'll die! They'll kill you!" 

Thea drove the barrel of the gun harder against Kat's temple, "Quiet." 

Dorothy began to cry, the conflict within her rising like a summer's heat. 

"Are you Dorothy Elwood?" 

"Yes." She sniffled.

"Are you aware there's a seventy dollar bounty on your head, Mrs. Elwood?" 

Thea pushed Kat so that they walked up closer, "You killed your husband in cold blood, didn't you Dorothy?" 

A hardened look now displayed on her face, "Yes." 

"Then you know I've come to collect." 

She shoved the woman she was holding hostage to the ground beside Dorothy who gathered her in her arms, burying her face in Kat's shoulder who in turn held her head gently. Thea blinked, feeling like the wind got knocked out of her. _What am I doing?_ Something was so pronounced between them, it definitely wasn't friendship or sisterhood. It was meant to be seen under the moon, something that was loud between them but quiet to the rest of the world. The story became so painfully clear. The gun began to feel so much more heavier between her hands. 

Kat looked up at her, blue eyes holding hers with an intense severity. "She- _we_ didn't have a choice. We would've been hanged." Her words felt like tidal waves against Thea's body, harmfully apparent. "It'd be better if you just killed us both right here." 

Dorothy looked up at her, eyes blood-shot and teary. "Don't take me back there." 

_What have I done._ She wanted to scream. To bury her head in the ground. To turn back time. She was so incredibly, profoundly stupid. 

Her emotions must've been so obvious on her face that the two women rose to their feet, watching Thea intently. She realized that she had dropped the shotgun. 

Her eyes went to the red dress and she saw that it wasn't red at all, it was vermilion with white flowers dancing across the hem. In another life she would've loved to wear it. 

Kat picked it up instantly but didn't point it at her, the silence eating away at all of them. Dorothy wiped her tears away, "I-I know you have a job to do, I know at first it was just a poster. That you thought you were going to find my body half-eaten by wolves and get your money. But she-" Dorothy took her lover's hand, "she saved my life. From him, from his family, from everything. We both killed him. But please, if you must take me, let her go." 

"It still is just a poster." Thea said through gritted teeth and gripped at her holster. "You're stepping on thin ice, Mrs. Elwood." 

Dorothy shook her head and smiled, reaching out to put her hand on Thea's who instantly froze up. "Mama said I was always good at readin' people, it's how I found out she loved me." She turned to Kat, who had gone back to pointing the gun, "It's how I know that you don't wanna do this." 

It was getting hard to breathe, her choices lay out in front of her rather simply. Either hogtie Dorothy right now while she still had her hand on the holster or walk away. Was it really as simple as that? It felt like life or death for these two women, these two who so desperately wanted to be together and fought in the face of everything that came in their way to do so. Flashbacks of the people she killed in the past popped up in her thoughts, the guilt of their deaths always seemed to weigh heavier than the gold she received, no matter how much it was. Thea tried to envision how the future would unfold if she chose to walk away. Hanley would laugh in her face, "Not so successful now, eh bounty hunter?" He would refuse to tell her about the Van Der Linde gang and all of it would be a complete waste of time. 

Yet if she decided to take her in, she would surely sentence both women to death. God, the morality of it all. She hated how it felt. All this shit for a woman who just wanted to leave her filthy husband, the family didn't even care for justice they just wanted the stupid wedding ring. How annoyingly stingy, how-

"The ring." 

Kat shook her head, "No way in hell, that's our ticket out of here." 

"Well it's either the ring or her head, it's up to you." The frigidness in her voice shocked her, considering that these two women just softened the hell out of a seasoned bounty hunter like her. 

Dorothy looked down at her hand, the ring glinting in the sunlight. She bit her lip, looking between Kat and Thea, "That's all they care about hmm? Well here, give it back to em'." She ripped it from her finger, tossing it right into Thea's opened palm. 

"What are we supposed to do now huh? We were gonna sell it for supplies and a wagon, Dorothy!" The other woman stammered, her fake mustache loosening. 

She smiled back, "We'll figure something out Kat—we always do. We can work on some nearby farms until we have enough to leave." 

Thea examined it in the sunlight, a massive oblong cut diamond, worthy enough to be placed in the finger of a royal. No wonder the family wanted it back, it was probably passed down generations. "I hope this'll be enough. For your sake." 

The women turned back to her, "It is enough. More than that, even." Kat said. 

She sighed. She had already decided to let this woman and her lover go, things got lucky that her anger didn't overtake her like it once used to. It was Kat's stricken look that made her fish into her pockets and pull out a wad of bills, she was already down the rabbit hole, may as well bury a little deeper. "Here." 

The blue-eyed woman gave her a defensive look and shook her head, "We don't want your money. It's corrupt." 

"It's money! This isn't pity, now take it before I change my goddamn mind." 

Dorothy stepped forward, grabbing it tenderly, like if she pressed down too hard it would get taken away. "Thank you," She whispered.

"I'm going to tell the Sheriff that I found your bones in the forest and your ring in wolf dung, if he's as stupid as I think he is he'll fall for it." Thea nodded, putting the ring into her pocket. 

There was a flash of amusement between them as Dorothy huffed, "Don't worry, he will." 

Thea passed her gaze between them as Kat wrapped her arm around her lover, planting a kiss on her golden curls. In the small amount of time that they shared together they now felt secure enough to exchange kisses, Thea didn't exactly know how to feel about it. Humbled was the closest thing she could think of. Before coming down the bank all she could think of which knot she was going to tie the woman down with and how the thick wad of bills would feel being pressed into her hand. All her encounters with criminals and outlaws before this always carried a sense of hatred, resentment towards those dumb enough to break the law. It's how she felt now towards the Van Der Linde gang, but meeting these two star-crossed lovers changed something in her. Never would she have expected to look into their eyes and see complete, justifiable innocence. They did what they had to do in order to save one another from the wretchedness that is human beings. Somewhere deep in the crevices of her chest Thea hoped that luck would be on their side enough for them to get away from this place, go as far as the land stretched out and settle down in a place where their love could only be felt between their two beings. Shit, she was too young to go this soft. 

"It might be more convincing to take that, say the wolves tore it up." Kat angled her chin at the vermilion dress floating in the wind, "It's the last thing she has of that place." 

Dorothy nodded, "As much as I love that dress, it's gotta go." Thea thought she saw tears pricking her eyes once more. 

She walked up to it and ripped it off the clothesline, the sound of fabric being torn emanating like a trumpet between the three women: an ending. 

"You two should get out of here. It's not safe being out in the open like this." She bade her goodbye with a warning, and the couple nodded. 

They could've been waving to her or saying thank you, but she had her back turned and was too far away now to hear anything. The stomping of her feet being the only thing she could feel. Disappointment and satisfaction wracked Thea's entire being so much that the numbness now became dangerous. She almost lost her footing multiple times as she made her way back up to where Miguel was grazing, feeling like her entire body was slick with sweat. Yet when she opened the buttons of her shirt to help her breathe her skin felt dry and normal. She took out her hunting knife and began to slash away at the dress, stabbing and tearing like a rabid wolf might've. It pained her to see something so beautiful that held so much promise being destroyed for the sake of keeping the truth at bay.

After putting some finishing touches of gravel and mud on the dress it was ready. Thea crumpled it into her saddle bag, mounting her horse. She took one last look at the dwindling line of smoke rising above the riverbank. Half of her told her to run back down there and hogtie both of them for the chance of hitting an even bigger jackpot. The other told her to turn her horse around, put on the most fake expression she could muster to convince people that she took down the dangerous Dorothy Elwood. She shook her head and urged Miguel forward, she made her choice back on that gravelly ground when she first looked into their eyes. She just hoped that everything would register normally in Hanley's eyes. 

The ride back to Strawberry was somber, even the midday sky had gone dark with the prospects of rain. Thea kept looking down at the ground, feeling sick at the amount of inward wrestling she was currently experiencing. 

It wasn't long before the wooden gateways of the town emerged in the view. It once held such beauty in her eyes, the sound of the watermill working and people lazing about. It was a distant memory now. All she could think of was the amount of suffering that must be going on behind the wooden and stone walls. People like Kat and Dorothy, people who just wanted freedom. Those who could never attempt to gain it because the thought of the law after them would be worse than death—the constant chase. 

Thea kicked open the sheriff's door, irritation already apparent on her features. It was only Hanley in the office now, still reading the newspaper like an idiot. She slammed the shredded dress, the ring and the poster all on his desk with an exhausted sigh. He was about to grumble something at her but did a double-take, letting the newspaper fall to the ground as he examined the fruits of her 'labor'. "By god you actually did it." He whispered, running his hands over the dress. 

"I found bones in the forest next to the river. Wolves. The dress wasn't that far off and I found the ring in some dung. She had no chance." It was actually quite lucky that she was so emotionally drained, it made her lie more convincing. 

Hanley looked back up at her in awe, "I sent up four men to do some digging for her and they ain't come up with shit. I can't believe it, you did it." 

"Dorothy Elwood, famed murderess of Strawberry died in the clutches of beasts just like her." Thea wiped her face, not realizing that she had actually got some dirt smeared on her jaw. Hopefully he was too busy gawking to notice. 

"Wait, what about the man she ran away with? Did you find him?" 

She shrugged, "Must've bolted someplace cause I only saw the bones of one person. Buried them where I found them." 

He scoffed, "She ain't deserve that, the bitch. Lucky those wolves got to her 'fore I did." He nodded to himself and Thea saw a look all too familiar flash across his eyes, right there she wanted to knock him out with a round of shells so thick his head would look like a hornet's nest. "So that's settled then. The money for my troubles?" Thea outstretched her hand. 

Hanley switched out a wad of cash for the ring inside his desk, "That's mainly from husband's family. I'll get this ring back to em' first thing tomorrow." 

She shoved the money into her satchel, it didn't feel as good as she imagined, but not as heavy as it would've been if she had actually brought Dorothy in. 

The sheriff was starting to reach back for his paper before she tutted, "No no. Remember our deal? Tell me what you know about the Van Der Linde Gang." 

He sighed, "You bounty hunters. Always wantin' more than you could ever bargain for." 

Rain began to patter on the roof as she took a seat in front of him, palms laid out to receive, "C'mon Sheriff I proved myself, didn't I? I deserve to know." 

"All right woman, all right. Here's what I know." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4!


	5. Lonely Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little filler chapter about Dutch's life before the gang. tw for knife violence.

_1867_

_"He's dead, you stupid boy! do you hear me? He's not coming back home because he's dead!"_

Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was wet with tears. The letter was crunched within her hand so hard that her nails were puncturing it. She started to visibly shake, lip trembling as both mother and son began to process what was just said. Along with the letter came his hunting knife, his favorite one. It had a wooden handle with a silver finish, and V.L. messily carved onto it. He did it himself. He never went anywhere without it. Even when his son begged him not to. 

"I gotta go. It's war, Dutch." 

"Please sir..-dad. Take me with you. You know that I can run really really fast, I-.. I can keep up." 

His father bent down on his knees and smiled, "Can't do that son. Who else is going to take care of your mother while I'm gone? You gotta defend the house from all the bad men, remember? Just like we practiced." 

The boy began to cry. It was the first time he cried in front of his father, feeling ashamed that he had to see him like this. He tried to cover his face with his hands, droplets of tears collecting into his palms. "yes-sir." 

"That's my boy. Here," he pulled out his knife from his pocket, sunlight gleaming off the silver coating, "I promise that once I get back, I'll give this to you to keep. But you gotta be a good boy until then, okay? Promise? I'll get a good amount of money for my service and I'll buy myself another knife so we can go huntin' for rabbits. That sound like fun?" He tilted his head to see his son's eyes peeking out from under his hands.

A soft smile tugged at the boy's mouth as he wiped away his tears, "Yes sir. I promise." 

His father stood, placing a sturdy hand on his shoulder, "You're the man of the house now until I get back, okay Dutch?" 

Dutch nodded. He looked up at his father, a man who he desperately hoped to become. Everything that he possessed, Dutch wanted. From his height to his build to even the way that he laughed. His laughter, albeit rare, could shake the snow off of a tree's branches. Thunderous. He believed in the war and he wanted to fight, no matter the cost. He was all for freedom and he believed in righteousness, god-given or man-made. But there he stood now—dressed like a soldier—leaving his son behind. 

He caught his gaze and began to tear up again, but he pushed it back down for the sake of his father. 

"Goodbye, son." He squeezed his shoulder then turned to his mother, "Greta." He nodded, the compassion lacking in his tone. His mother muttered angrily at him, but Dutch couldn't make it out. 

Then his father...left. That was the last time he saw him. The last time he heard him say 'son'. The last time he saw his smile. 

Dutch was ten years old back then—now fifteen—the memory of that day was flooding back to him. 

She was weeping now, guttural cries wracking her body. She had curled into herself while seated on a chair, hair strewn apart from it's hold. She kept muttering his name over and over, as if to comfort herself. Tears were flooding down her face and into her mouth, mixing with her spit. She was missing a front tooth, it was her key characteristic. Dutch never dared to ask why but he knew that it had something to do with him. He would overhear his father and her fighting and she would bring up the 'incident' along with his name, accusation brimming her words, as best as she could pronounce them. Not once did she console him the day he left, only telling him to go to his room if he was going to cry. He didn't hate her and he could never bring himself to. There was just a divided wall that constantly separated them from ever coming close to having the kindred relationship that he witnessed other sons and mothers having. The tension had grown with his father's departure, but the reason they kept the peace was the hope they held of his return, but now that too had died out. 

"You got something to say, boy?" She looked up at him, the coldness of her voice sent chills down Dutch's spine. 

"N-no ma'am." He said. 

His mother got up from the chair and grabbed the hunting knife, stalking towards him, "Are you happy now? Your dear mother's become a widow, a war widow, mind you. Are you happy?" She unsheathed it, scowling. 

"No, I'm not. My father's dead... I'm far from it." He began to retreat slowly. 

"That's all you care about huh? Your poor pappy gone. You goddamn _leech_." Tears were still running down her cheeks and began to stain her nightgown. She kept moving towards him until he was backed up against a wall. 

Dutch couldn't comprehend what she was about to do—until she did it. 

The knife split through the air and landed on his chest, slicing through the thin fabric of his shirt, piercing a long gash through his skin. He gasped as his mind registered what just happened, but before he could thoroughly react his mother lifted her hand once more. 

"Look what you've done to me!" It came down, this time lacerating his shoulder. 

"I can't remarry!" 

_Slash._ His chest again.

"I can't work!" 

_Slash._ Abdomen.

"And you're just a worthless coward! Your father forgot to teach you to be a man before he died."

The last one slit dangerously close to his neck, cutting the skin of his collarbone. 

Dutch couldn't breathe, he couldn't cry, he felt absolutely frozen. Pain was searing all over his body but he was too afraid to move. Nothing felt real anymore. He never expected to wake up and find out that his father died in battle, or that his mother would attack him this way. The thing that hurt the most was the look in her eyes as she did it: relentless, harbored anger. 

She was panting now, sobs beginning to ravage her. She dropped the knife and it hit the ground with a resounding clatter. 

_"get out of my house."_

He looked down to see blood seeping through the gashes on his shirt, letting out a shaky breath. His mother was turned away now with her arms wrapped around herself. She had returned to muttering his father's name. 

Dutch bent down to pick up the knife, gritting his teeth as pain shot through his entire being. He counted at least five cuts on his body, but it felt like multitudes. Bright red had splattered all over the blade, the handle, even the carving. It was wet within his hands as he straightened himself back up, face pulsating with heat. 

In that moment, the fifteen year old began to balance two very distinct ideas in his mind. His hand gripped tighter around the knife as his eyes bore straight at his mother. _His mother._ She did this to him, she attacked her own son. Emotions were a thing of the past now, everything and anything that he felt was agonizing, torturous pain. A part of him wanted her to feel the same way that he did. All it would take was a hard strike to the back of her neck like how his father taught him the first time they went out to hunt rabbits. _Gotta hit hard enough so they don't feel it_. 

He wanted to scream, to defend himself, anything that would make her realize that he was hurting too. 

She turned back to him now and her eyes widened at the image of him holding his father's knife while staring her down. Quite the contrast from a few moments ago. What looked like fear dawned upon her face, but by then Dutch had already made his mind up. 

He tucked the knife into his pocket and began to stagger towards the door, fighting his body to not let her see him in pain. Shoving the door open and being greeted with a gust of hot summer wind that burned at his cuts and pricked his eyes. He felt his mother's eyes staring at him, so he turned back to face her. Words struggled to come up his throat. 

"Goodbye then...mama." 

And with that, he left. 

* * *

_3 hours_ _ later _

Heat came at him from all different directions. The humidity rising from the ground traveled up his skinny frame, latching onto his skin like hot wax. The sun beat down endlessly, distorting the horizon with its rays. Internally, the heat burned in his blood with every passing moment. His mind was a complete mess, wandering in and out of memories so passively that Dutch could no longer dictate between what was or wasn't reality. Normally, summertime meant scavenging for plump blueberries under the twilight sky or taking a dive in the nearby lake to wash away the day's activities. It was staring at the patterns between the foliage and saving up coins to buy a vanilla cone. 

But never this. Summertime shouldn't be like this.

Pain reverberated with every step he took on the narrow dirt road, he didn't know how long he'd been walking. It never crossed his mind to take a horse or at least some bandage to soak up the blood. Except that his mind was more focused on getting away from home than tending to his wounds. 

This was the only road up to the town, it normally took about an hour to get there on horseback. Two on foot if you walked fast enough. He figured nobody must've walked up this path injured like he was, 'cause the silhouettes of the buildings were barely beginning to show. 

"Gotta keep goin'.." He panted, clutching at the deepest gash on his abdomen which was still oozing blood every few minutes. 

Dutch tried not to think about the events that had just transpired a few hours ago. He tried not to think about her face or the way she was coming at him with the hunting knife precisely aimed to cut. He struggled to push away the sound of her voice reading out the letter, clearly enunciating the word 'death' and 'remains' so that he could understand. A boy of fifteen years should be able to comprehend the concept of death, right? He'd seen it plenty of times: when father had to put down their old work horse cause of its broken leg, when he showed him how to kill a rabbit with a swift blow—watching as it twitched once then laid still. Why should this death be any different. Why should it take so long for him to understand then? He was a big boy, almost a man. He should be able to make sense of things like this. Father's dead. Dead within the same battlefield along with the other countless soldiers. Their families know they're gone too, right? How could they have handled it? Probably huddled within each others arms and sharing sobs. Sons could cry to their mothers without being shanked by their dead father's hunting knives. Dutch silently wished for someone to be here to help him: another son whose father's death they had yet to grasp. But most of all, he just wanted his father beside him. To steady him against his shoulder and reassure him the same way he did the day he left as they walked to town. _You're gonna be just fine, son, okay? Promise me you'll be a strong man now. Once we get back home you're gonna rest up and I'll make you some rabbit stew. Does that sound nice Dutch? But you gotta promise me now._

 _I promise dad... I promise._ He fell to the ground, all the water from his body too drained to produce any more tears. A wail ran its course from his chest and out his dry throat, fists pounding into the ground as his muscles strained to keep from spurting blood out from his wounds. His legs faltered beneath him as he repeatedly tried to stand back up but immediately landed back on the dirt, messing his appearance even more. It had felt as though his body had given up on the fight. _I'm going to die here, dad._ Dutch coughed and his breath grew shallow. 

The sudden sounds of hoof-beats resounded in his ears, drawing closer. He figured that it truly was his time, that his chariot had arrived to whisk him away to whatever place there was to be held for judgement. That he would soon face God in all his glory and be told that he was wrong for letting his father go into war and that he was a terrible son for not being the man his mother wanted him to be. This was his fate—never to live another day. 

It now sounded like multiple riders coming his way. Perhaps it wasn't a chariot but an entourage. Oh well, whatever it may be, he was ready. 

"Holy fuckin' shit Jeremiah look at this fuckin' kid." A deep southern accent rolled out. Of course He would send southerners to come and collect him, that was a real nice touch. The same breed that killed his dad now come to take him for restitution. 

"Damn! He dead? What's a boy doin' all the way out here bleedin' all over the place?" Another voice came through with an even thicker accent. Of course he was dead, why couldn't they get on with it? 

"Don't know but we oughta take him to the doctor. I can't have no dead kid on my conscience." 

"Naw. He's damn near gone—just leave im'." 

What were they doing? Where's the divine fanfare? The bright light? He pushed himself to turn over on the ground and his bleary vision managed to make out two figures staring down at him from their horses. Dutch took in a breath and tried to speak, "I-..Is it t-..time?" 

"Jeremiah get off and put im' on yer horse. We're takin' him to town." 

The other man muttered something but slid off, walking over to where Dutch lay. He bent down and tried to gather him up by his armpits but Dutch let out a breathy shriek the second he lifted. The pain became too unbearable in that moment and everything went dark. 

"My God-" He must've seen the gashes and the blood cause he stopped dead in his tracks and dropped him back down. "He's... he's got cuts all over. You sure we shouldn't just bury him right here?" 

There was a brief silence. 

"No. He's just passed out. C'mon I'll help you." Now he too slid off and the two men stood on opposite ends of Dutch's seemingly lifeless form. Jeremiah began to lift his legs as the other man raised his torso. They placed his slumped body on a horse as the first man sat in front, securing the boy by having his hands wrapped around the man's waist as he spurred his horse forward. Dutch's body tensed up so hard that he felt rigid. He groaned in his state of collapse, earning a reassuring pat on his arm. 

"You're gonna be okay kid." 

\---

It must've been days before Dutch came to. It took a few blinks to readjust his vision, but once he did he was able to take in the extent of his situation. The room he was in was dimly lit, light filtering through cracks in between the poorly-placed wooden planks. There was a wobbly nightstand next to him with a spiny stalked plant sat atop it. It had some of its stems cut off and what looked like clear jelly showed within. Dutch had never seen anything like it in his life. He went back to looking around, spotting another table with weird tongs and scissors shining off some candlelight. 

He forced himself to look down but was slightly relieved when he saw a thin blanket draped over his torso rather than the previous image of what his torso looked like. The pain was starting to come back, but it wasn't as sharp and blistering as it was before. Dutch could breathe without it getting hitched in his throat from dryness. He just felt so much better. 

That feeling only lasted a few more moments before the door cracked open and fear set in. He couldn't remember what happened when he was last awake, but it couldn't have been anything good. 

"Well now, look who decided to wake up." The familiar southern accent paired with the cowboy stepped in, Dutch could finally get a good look at him. He certainly didn't work as one of God's employees in deliverance, but there was something entrancing about him. He had to have only been a few years older than he was, barely enough beard to cover up his youthful jaw. His gaze was warm and inviting, he held no malice in his tone as far as Dutch could tell. What intrigued him the most was the man's choice of clothing. Nothing he donned seemed to match individually, but together they had this chaotic fluidity that dripped in both wealth and poverty. Cowboys were something Dutch had only been told stories of: their horrid dispositions, how they only catered to death, and even looting the pennies off the poorest men. He now leaned against the door frame, looking at him expectantly. 

Dutch hadn't realized he asked a question. "I'm sorry, what?" 

The man shook his head and snorted, "I asked what your name was, kid." 

"Oh, it's Dutch." 

He nodded then began to walk over to him, "What were you doin' out there, Dutch?" 

"Out uh... where?" 

"Damn near bleedin' to death on the path jus' outside town," he pointed to his torso beneath the blanket, "that's fuckin' thirty eight stitches I had to pay for." 

Dutch felt his palms begin to sweat as the man held his gaze, all that warmth he carried through the door seemed to vanish into pure steel. He tried to sit up but pain shot through him like a bullet and he winced, "I'm sorry. You didn't have to." 

The man walked over to the nightstand and plucked a piece of the strange plant, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. "But I did, Dutch." He sat down on the bed and signaled to him to remove the blanket. Dutch raised his brow. 

He chuckled, "This saved you, you know that? That doctor worked on you for hours tryin' to keep all them stitches closed but for some reason your skin kept opening back up and bleedin'. If he hadn't thought of this here miracle you would've died." 

"I thought I already had." Dutch muttered and gingerly sat up, letting the blanket slide off. It was only then that he realized that he was wearing a new shirt, it was green and warm. There weren't any slashes down its fabric nor any ugly blood stains. He prepared himself with a sharp inhale and lifted the shirt to reveal several cotton pads placed around his chest and stomach that ran up to his shoulder. He looked like a soft cotton pillow. 

The cowboy took in his look of astonishment and nodded, "We did too." 

"So why did you bring me here? I mean no offense sir but— I don't have any money to pay you back. I got nothing." 

He slowly began to lift the cotton on Dutch's abdomen and it was only then that saw the full extent of his injures. The thin white protrusions of the stitches protruding in a neat line down the cut that had now gone purple along the edges but shone bright red in the center. It looked absolutely disgusting. Dutch sighed. 

The man placed the stem of where he cut it off the plant onto his wound, beginning to slide it carefully alongside the wound. It felt slimy and refreshing against the heat of the incision, but strange nonetheless. Dutch took it from his hand and began to copy the actions. 

"It was cause I knew you wanted to live." He leaned back and wiped his hands on his coat, "And don't you worry 'bout the money. Think of it as an in _vest_ ment alright?" 

Dutch looked up from his administering, "investment?" 

"You know—I do somethin' for you, you do somethin' for me. Is that something you can do Dutch?" He smiled. 

"I'm-" 

"No I know you need rest. I'll give you that, kid. Just make a promise to me right here and right now that you'll help me out when I need ya." 

Dutch didn't like giving out promises to people he didn't know, especially when something as heavy as saving him from certain death was on the line. He put down the stalk and readjusted the bandages back into place. A small portion of his barely formed conscience told him to say no, that beneath the smile there was something sinister. But all that he was ever taught had died with his departure from home. He knew nothing and no one. And this man sitting here before him was the epitome of elusiveness that Dutch now wanted. "Yes, sir. I promise you." 

He gave him the biggest smile Dutch had ever seen on a person and outstretched his hand, "Very good choice there kid. I can tell we're going to get alone just fine, me n' you." 

Dutch faintly reciprocated his glee by taking it. He was starting to feel tired the pain from sitting up beginning to lull him back down into the much more comfortable position of tucking back under the blanket. He yawned. 

The man stood and began to make his way to the door, "You get some sleep now. I'll come collect ya in the mornin'" 

"Wait." Dutch said, "You never told me who you were."

He turned back and adjusted his hat, "Name's Colm, kid. Colm O'driscoll." 

Colm suddenly turned to snap his fingers at the nightstand beside the bed as though he suddenly remembered a key detail about it. Dutch shifted his bleary gaze towards it, noticing how the evening sunlight glinted off the drawer's bronze handle. He reached out, wincing at the sudden tenderness of his shoulder, and opened the drawer. Within it held his father's knife. Silver finish, wooden handle, messy carving and everything. Reaching in to lift it, Dutch didn't dare let Colm see how heavy it felt to hold. It seemed as though it's weight doubled with the amount of memories it now carried. The blade seemed to shimmer like it had been recently polished, but something flashed in his mind and suddenly he saw the crimson hue of blood running down its length. The pain from his shoulder became too great and he dropped it, sighing. It must've been all the blood loss, but the light reflecting off it was too bright for him. He turned his head into the pillow to avoid it. 

"That's the only thing we found off ya. I...," Colm paused to scratch his chin awkwardly, "don't know if ya did this to yourself kid but I'm here to tell ya that the life you had is over. We're partners now, right? Me n' you—Colm n' Dutch." 

Dutch ran his name over in his mind. It matched up so perfectly with his image. Suddenly this man had become his first new friend in this world. He was away from his home and his mother... father was dead. Nothing tied him down anymore, and for that he was grateful. 

"Goodnight Colm." He whispered into the air as the man left with a dismissive wave. 

The events of a few days ago now seemed like they were nothing but specks in time. He had been saved and taken care of, nourished and tended to by this man who didn't even know who he was, just a dying boy on the side of the road. Dutch vowed to himself that should he ever come across a situation like that, he would act like Colm did. Be their savior, don't make them wait for God's chariot to come flying by. To fight for the chance to save a life—the raw beauty of it all. It was something that blossomed in his aching chest like a flower fighting against a typhoon to stay alive. He needed to nurse it, like Colm nursed him. Dutch hoped that he would be his new family now that he made his promise to him, that he would teach him how to properly ride a horse and how to wear the proper clothes, and how to exercise their practice of being people's chance at redemption. 

Sleep tugged at his eyelids. The promise of tomorrow lay on the horizon, it just couldn't get here fast enough. As long as he's with Colm, he'll be perfectly fine. 

Dutch drifted off to sleep with a soft smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young D.V.L.? It seems almost impossible to imagine him young and not cuckoo, but I tried my best to capture his backstory.


	6. Baby Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liiitle story divergence.

The sun was beginning to set on a rather eventful day in Arthur's book. From this morning's horse wrangling to pronghorn hunting to his ultimate embarrassment with Karen's outburst to now homestead robbing with Javier. God it's been a long day—and the sun's barely setting. Normally he would call it quits the moment his cheeks stopped flushing but somehow today kept turning out to be filled with more annoying mishaps. He groaned into the curve of his arm as the evening breeze rustled into his tent, stirring him from his position splayed out on the cot. Orange and pink danced in between the darkening clouds and people were beginning to retire to their nightly routines: grabbing supper, gathering around the fire, or lazing about on the cool grass watching the sunset. 

With every step Javier drew closer Arthur's irritation grew like a nagging bug bite. He chuckled to himself as he likened Javier to an annoying bug—probably a mosquito—always buzzing about trying to get into your face at the closest opportunity. 

"Why're you laughing to yourself? C'mon, we gotta get going before it gets too dark out." The flamboyantly dressed camp musician stopped to study himself in the mirror conveniently placed for his pleasure right in the other mans' line of sight. Arthur couldn't shut his eyes fast enough as Javier bent down to pick at his teeth, his ass all up in the cowboy's face. All the drowsiness he was feeling suddenly disappeared.

Arthur swatted him away, "Can you not shove yourself next to my face? Dammit Javier." Sighing, he rolled up from his cot and ran his hand down his face in an attempt to swipe away that image from his memories, unfortunately with no avail. "Where did you say we we're goin'?" 

Javier laughed, "Awe Arthur you're breaking my heart here. I thought we had something special and now you're pushing me away? After all that effort I put into myself just to catch a longing stare from those perfect baby blues." 

"Riiight. That's all for me. 'suppose I should tell Tilly to take her eyes off my man then." He brightened at the way he just caught the smoothest man in camp off guard who now began to shyly glance around for the young woman. "Tilly? She looks at me?" His voice went like three octaves higher and he started to smooth out his mustache. Arthur shoved him forward, "Shut up and move. I asked you where we were going."

Javier let his eyes linger on Tilly a moment longer before focusing back up, "A house near Strawberry. A little birdie told me that it's completely empty and _stocked_ with goods for the taking." 

"What's this I hear?" A voice came from behind them and they turned to see Dutch walking up, another cigar in hand. Arthur elbowed Javier. 

The smaller man cleared his throat nervously as Dutch looked on expectantly, "Nothing big, boss. I just got a tip for a homestead that could prove to be useful to our cause." He shrugged.

Arthur tried not to laugh at the clear facade he was putting up, although he could've phrased it better and his body language was so exaggerated that he was surprised at how convinced Dutch looked. This gang truly was made up of the greediest fools he had ever seen. Not even their charismatic leader nor his heroic cause could ever make a man like Javier forfeit the majority of a good take. Arthur couldn't blame him either, sometimes you just gotta put in a little white lie for them extra dollars in your pocket. He nodded and put on his most convincing face. "Very useful." 

"Sounds like a plan. Good work, Javier. Don't disappoint now boys." Dutch beamed at the pair, "I sort of wish I could go with you. A good ol' house call is just what I need to get a break from-" 

Before he could finish his sentence, the very subject of his dismay came out of their tent and called out his name. Her red curls fell past her shoulders and her infamous green blouse looked a little more open than what was comfortable for both the camps' or Arthur's eyes. He looked down while Javier stretched out his neck to get a better angle. Dutch crushed his cigar in his fist, "I swear on everything I've ever held dear, she's getting on my damn nerves." 

"You wanted the younger model Dutch don't blame her for being what she is." Arthur murmured, still casting his gaze at his feet. He heard Javier snort. 

"She's nothing but a pain in my side." He growled and began to make his way back towards his tent, "Let me know how it goes." 

They waited until he got out of earshot before bursting into a series of throaty cackles. Javier patted him on the back in commendation, "If I said that he would've handed my ass to me." 

Arthur nodded, wiping a tear away, "We're all thinkin' it I just had the guts to say it." 

"Let's get going. I don't want any unwanted visitors getting what's ours. I've been plotting this for days." 

The pair made their way towards their horses and Arthur raised his brow, "and that's all for the taking? That doesn't make any sense." 

"Oh but it does mi amor, it does." Boaz greeted his rider with a cheerful snort while Dena just searched hers for treats. They mounted and spurred their horses out of camp, the dying light of the day drowning into darkness behind them. Leaves and bushes were outlined in a rich orange color as all kinds of critters scurried underfoot into their burrows for the coming dangers of the night. As they moved out of earshot and into the open valley, Javier pulled out a map of the town and angled his lit cigarette towards a small rectangular form on the outskirts. 

"This one right here, see? A woman murdered her husband and ran away with her lover at this house. I'm told that he was the family's golden boy and there's a room filled with his heirlooms and her jewelry just sitting there catching dust." 

Arthur took a drag out of his own, "Okay... how do we know the law isn't gonna be swarming the place once we get there?" 

Javier gave him an irritated look, "Shut up Arthur. It's gonna be fine. We sneak in then sneak out, like always. The law don't care about some runaway wife and the body's been taken away too. Trust me." 

"Alright, just makin' sure." 

It was a quiet night as the two men traversed the scarcely-tamed wilderness. A dirt path being the only separation between the uncivilized lands and normalcy. It was the way he liked it, being near too many people and too many buildings made Arthur feel claustrophobic. Open landscapes made him feel like he could breathe. The way that the sky seemed to roll endlessly with the ground beneath in a harmonic convergence helped ease the stress off his shoulders in a way a hot bath and massage was never able to. It reminded him of a story of how the earth and sky were destined to never touch but ran their continuous course of night and day as star-crossed lovers. He never was one for fables, but he liked the ones that carried unspoken sadness carved in between their words. Happy tales never found place within his memories. 

Javier eventually broke the silence, "So... you really think so?" 

"Hm? What?" He was snapped away from his trance. 

"You think Tilly likes me?" 

Although Arthur was pretty sure the man was looking for another body to share his bed with, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pain at that look of utter ardent captivation. He couldn't remember the last time he looked at someone who made his entire being burn with need of intimacy. Her name popped up in his thoughts as much as he didn't want it to. _Mary_. A flower whose blooming he will never be able to witness. He would once find himself aching at the thought of never seeing her again, never looking upon the soft curves of her rosy lips, never wanting to drown himself in the darkest depths of her brown eyes. But now it was as if she no longer occupied the forefront of his heart but rather tethered to the one thing that stopped him from moving on. Not that he even had the chance to with all the events that have been occurring with the gang and Dutch. But what were once days of burying his head in-between his hands and not talking to anyone turned to little moments like this where he felt that tether ground him from ever wanting to feel that way towards another person again. 

"Just don't be stupid and you'll be fine." 

He took a moment to himself then smiled, "Sound advice. Thank you Arthur." 

"It's what I do." 

* * *

_Amalthea, this letter is to remind you of your civic responsibility to inform the Armadillo Sheriff's Office regarding your whereabouts as well as your progress in capturing one of the members of the Van Der Linde Gang. It has been exactly one week since you decided to take on the job and the officials from Blackwater have sent telegrams asking me of your advancements. I am also to inform you that this task is of utmost importance and that it is not too late to forfeit and return to hunting down bounties that are better suited for your talents. Write back and let me know. This letter was initially posted to be received in town of Strawberry. Should it not find you, we have to assume what is best in the prospects of the officials and hire the Pinkerton Detective Agency to take hold of this operation. You are their last shot at finding and capturing a member of the Van Der Linde Gang. Write back to me as soon as you receive this, I'm to give you two days for your response. Best of Luck._

_Sheriff Dean Hughes of Armadillo_

She had to focus on her breathing to not let her rage consume her. How dare he? How dare they? They had no fucking clue the amount of shit she's being put through. They weren't the ones suffering underneath the scrutiny of an _entire_ city's officials, feeling the weight of it all bearing down heavy enough to feel like her spine was to be split in two. Hot tears began to stream down her face and she bit her lip, trying not to let the sobs travel up her throat. It came in waves: the moment she thought she was past it, it slammed back into her thoughts even harder than before. The fear of not succeeding, of having to come face to face with the high and mighty men of Blackwater, not having the chance of earning enough money to buy herself out of this line of work snatched away. It was her only shot, that's why she took it. Before all this, her days were spent hunting mediocre criminals convicted of petty theft or minimal violence whose payouts were never more than twenty dollars. Going into it, she never expected to make a living out of being a bounty hunter. But once she realized she had been roped in, there was no way of getting out, unless one counts getting murdered for it. But this—this was her only chance—as monetary as it was. She was aware of how the scale tipped in terms of the odds against her, but wasn't every job she took? The risk of getting killed, robbed, tortured and assaulted were just as prevalent then as they were now. The only thing that seemed to stand out was the magnitude that it carried. This was an entire gang that lived symbiotically among one another. Their stronghold was in their trust and loyalty, and it was up to her to break that delicate balance and face the consequences of it. Her life never really meant much to her anyways, should this be her last job, so be it. But right then and there, she looked into the crackling wood within the fireplace and decided that she too, would burn that gang from the inside out. 

Thea tossed the letter into the flames and watched how quickly it withered away, tears causing her eyes to be out of focus so that it spread across her vision in abstract, seeming to blaze up the entire room. Clearing her throat of emotion, she grabbed the bottle of rum and swilled it until it was almost empty. They didn't have her favorite brand in stock, so this cheap knockoff would have to do. It lapped inside her stomach in a nauseating way as she relished at the sweet burn radiating in her chest. It wouldn't be long before her mind would cloud and her cold demeanor unravel. It'd be best if she stayed inside the hotel room for the rest of the night. 

The bottle was settled on her knee as she sat splayed on a velvet armchair, scowling at the fireplace. Then just as the tides retreated in the night and returned in the morning, the imagery that letter provided washed back. 

_Amalthea._ Memories of that night she gave Dean Hughes her full name resembled quite like this one. A job gone wrong, rum-stained words, the only form of comfort she knew being hands running up and down her bare skin.

He caught her in the saloon the night he got indicted as sheriff. They struck up conversation about his newfound duties, then one thing led to another and suddenly he was asking for her real name while kissing hot circles on her neck. And like the fool she was, gave it to him in breathless sighs. Never expecting that he would include it in every letter he would write from that night on. He never deserved to know—but there he was spelling it out and here she was reading it—reminded of an experience she wants nothing more than to forget. 

She chugged the remainder of the rum and smashed the empty glass on the ground. 

Today was so, utterly, disappointing. This was the first time she had let a bounty leave her sight unscathed. In fact, she voluntarily helped them with their eventual escape. Usually it was the other way around with a helpful round of bullets and a fast horse. She didn't know what came over her or why it did, just that it happened. The women's love story being so profound in just between the looks they gave one another was enough to send Thea reeling into making decisions she never would've expected. Then to go and give them money and cover up their tracks with nothing but a tattered dress and her wedding ring as proof of death? It was like she was a completely different person. It was always the body or nothing for Thea, otherwise she would feel unfulfilled as a bounty hunter. But Dorothy's round face and butter-churned voice came into her mind, and then Kat's fierce blue eyes and her calloused hands followed and it all silently made sense. Thea looked out the window in acknowledgement, hoping that they made it out without getting caught. 

Then she had to deal with Hanley, who happened to be one of the most useless men she's ever met. Nothing got through his thick skull except for green and gold, so when she showed diamond he was at her feet ready to comply. But Thea couldn't bring herself to verbally describe how stupid his response to her question about the Van Der Linde gang's whereabouts. 

"Well, I do know they're on the run from Blackwater." He would nod to himself.

"Something useful, Hanley. Everyone knows they're on the run." 

He then pulled out a stack of papers-telegrams- from nearby sheriffs who had claims of alleged sightings of the gang members and handed them to her. "Look through those, there's bound to be something." 

Thea shifted through the papers and skimmed the focal points. _Disturbance in Valentine. Horse kidnapping near Dakota River. Bar brawl in Valentine. Murdered O'Driscolls in the Grizzlies. Disturbance of peace in Valentine._

Things were pointing to the town of Valentine, but it was a seedy town with plenty of seedy criminals milling about. There wasn't anything specific that could point her towards a member of the gang. At this point, she was beginning to get desperate. The sun was beginning to set outside and Hanley began to look irritated. He gathered the telegrams back in his hands and shooed her away, "There. Now we're even. You took care of Dorothy Elwood and I gave you what I got on the Van Der Linde gang. Now go." 

She remembered wanting to kick his face in, but that would prove to be pointless, too. She took a mental note to check out Valentine: it was the most plausible thing she could go off of. Thea didn't exactly blame Hanley for his lack of evidence, ever since they fled Blackwater nobody's been able to conjure up any solid evidence other than the Cornwall train robbery, but that was up in the mountains and she didn't have enough information to know if they were still up there or not. She left the sheriff's just as confused as when she walked in, but at least she had some sort of lead. At first light, she would ride out to Valentine. 

A sudden angered knock came at the door, but by now the alcohol had set within her blood and she was fired up. 

Thea snapped up from the chair and walked her bare feet to the door, not caring about the glass cutting up her heels. She almost liked how it felt, the rum subsiding what would normally be sharp pangs to what felt like little tickles. She giggled. 

"Yeess?" she swung the door open to reveal the hotel clerk standing with his arms crossed looking like someone had just spit in his coffee. 

"Miss, may I remind you that this is a hotel room that isn't your personal parlor?" God, even his voice was annoying. 

She tried to play it cool and copied his exact stance, right down to the snobby look, "Of course not... sir. I'm aware that this _fine_ establishment is not in fact my personal parlor. Very sorry about the noise. Goodnight, yeah?" She retreated a few steps and began to close the door, but he stopped it with his hand and gave her the most counterfeit smile she'd ever seen. "Unfortunately I cannot allow that to happen. Please pack your things and go. I do have a reputation to uphold." He held up his chin so high Thea thought his neck would snap. It actually left him quite vulnerable for a quick jab in the jugular but she was feeling generous tonight, maybe it was the knockoff rum. 

"Um, of course, sir." She hobbled over to the bed where her clothes and revolver were laid out. She passed her reflection in the mirror and stopped to take a look: she still had her striped white shirt adorned with suspenders and her hair had fallen out of it's hold down to her chest. Jeans were caked with dirt from the day's adventures of faking a murder scene. God she looked like a complete mess, but she had to look away for staring too long made her loopy. 

He was still standing by the door looking more annoyed than ever, "Let's get moving, miss." 

She smiled then launched herself at him, placing the muzzle of her gun right on his Adam's apple. He froze up instantly and that pretentious look was replaced with innate terror as his hands flew up. 

"You..-" she hiccuped, "really need to work on your hospitality towards your clients mister," she drove it harder against his throat and his breathing began to strain, "you just lost a valuable customer." 

"V-very sorry madam! please. don't." His voice went down to a shaking whisper, "y-you can stay. Just please... don't kill me." 

Thea let the silence ring between them before tilting her head to the side and pouting, "Nahhh, I don't really feel like staying. I do have a reputation to uphold, just like you." She barely lifted the gun off his throat and he scrambled down to the floor, begging for mercy with his hands clutching his head. A wave of nausea ran through her body as she shoved her way past him and into the open air outside, praying he didn't have the balls to call for help. 

She slinked her way around the back of the hotel, stumbling once or twice on an imaginary rock. Somehow, she had found her way to the saloon and was posted right up on the bar, another bottle of rum in hand. It was as if this whole process had been ingrained in her body: lonely bounty hunter drinking by herself, man walks up and whispers sweet nothings, and she wakes up not knowing where she was or who was lying naked beside her. As much as she loathed putting herself into that position, it was all she knew. Human contact in her life was limited to wrangling, hogtying, punching, kicking, and very brief intimate interactions that were mostly mediocre. 

It had gotten so bad that she felt like she was swaying while sitting completely still. Her skin had flushed and her eyelids were droopy, but regardless of how she was feeling, she still downed heavy swigs of her drink, wanting to wash all of the day's stress away. 

Thea could feel people casting looks of both annoyance and pity towards her, wondering why the hell this woman seemed drunk out of her mind when the sun had barely set outside. But she didn't care—or at least—her drunk self didn't. 

She figured she must've looked pretty bad for the bartender to walk up and slowly push the bottle out of reach, "I think you've had enough for tonight, miss." 

"Hey..! I paid for that." Her hand reached out to grab it but he lifted it out of reach. "Don't be like that, sir. I just saved your sorry little town today from a veerry dangerous criminal. Yup. I sure did." She didn't realize it but at that moment she plastered her biggest 'I'm-the-hero' grin. 

He shook his head, "I don't care what you did, you're too drunk to hold your head above your shoulders. It's for your own safety. Here, I'll give you your money back." He reached into his pockets and pulled out four dollar bills, all while putting her half-drunken bottle back on the shelf. "I think it'd be best if you get going, ma'am." 

What was with this town? You show a little hot blood then everybody gets scared and wants you to leave? "Fine." Thea huffed, scrambling out of her chair and finding herself leaning against the wooden railing of the porch outside the saloon. People outside were beginning to retire back into their homes for the night, soft discussions of the day's work carried over the breeze and into her ears. A group of men were talking about the progress they made in their construction, specifically how well this specific type of hammer hit the nails best. They all seemed to simultaneously agree, nodding in unison. She smiled to herself, feeling the cool night air counteract all the rage boiling within. Another conversation wafted towards her, this time between two women. 

_"Have you heard? That Elwood woman was eaten by wolves, everything was gone except for her dress and the wedding ring!"_

A shrill gasp, _"my goodness! Well is that not what she deserved? Murdering her poor husband like that."_

_"I never coined her for a murderess.They always looked so happy together."_

Thea leaned harder against the railing to try and hone in on their words.

_"Wonder if all that gold is still kept in their cellar. She was always wearing the shiniest of necklaces and earrings. If that were my husband..."_

The woman must've whispered something to her friend cause she couldn't make it out, but guessed with the other one's squeaky laughter that it was vile. _"Oh my! It's been a while since you've been to church my dear."_

A fit of laughter steered the conversation into another direction, but by then she had lost interest in what they were saying. 

"Gold, huh?" Thea muttered. Her hazy thoughts allowed little focus to take hold, but like a bloodhound on a scent her mind began to tick at the possibility of a quick home invasion. She didn't think Dorothy would mind either, besides she was too far away now to care. If anything, it was what she was owed, was it not? Those seventy dollars she earned from the sheriff sounded like pocket change when the promise of gold came into context. Glittering gemstones and sparkling jewelry would fetch an even prettier penny at a trader's stall. According to Hanley the place was empty since they removed the husband's body. There was at least a twenty five percent chance that nobody looted the home, but what was the thing about the odds always being stacked against her? It sounded like the perfect heist: nighttime, completely empty home on the outskirts of town, nobody around to witness. 

Maybe it was all the alcohol running rampant in her bloodstream, or maybe it was just her amplified sense of pride, but Thea decided to ransack Dorothy's home. Was she the law? No, she only did their odd jobs.

She wasn't going to get caught—no way in hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 coming soon.


	7. Baby Blues Pt.2

The moon had risen well above the sky now as they made their way into Strawberry. There were a few candlelit windows scattered about, but for the most part it was a quiet night. Arthur traveled his gaze around, it was his first time here and it was so different than a town like Valentine or Blackwater. The water mill had been turned off for the day, its tranquility blossoming something in his chest as he heard the sound of running water beneath the bridge. It too had seemed to retire for the night, clearly not as playful underneath the stars. He bent over from his saddle to look at the murky depths beneath as the pair crossed over the wooden planks, wanting to pull out his fishing rod and just stay there, basking in the peace. He closed his eyes to take in the scenery with just his ears, darkness not doing any of it justice. 

"From what the map tells me it should be just above this hill. Past the stables." Javier's brash whispers shattered the silence and Arthur shot him a pointed look. 

Dena angled her head towards the stables' horses and seemed to greet them with a soft whinny. Arthur strained his eyes towards them to see a white horse—bathed in moonlight—reply. From what he could tell it had a strong neck that curved beautifully against the square window of its stall, puffs of steam emitting from its nostrils and rising to the sky. He could see that the horse looked expensive, someone whose pockets were definitely carved deeper than the normal townsfolk. His eyes lingered on it a moment longer before moving on towards a pleasant yellow cottage posted on the top of the hill, overlooking the town in its repose.

By looking at it, you could never tell the tragedy of the events that took place. It looked absolutely and completely normal. A white picket fence surrounded the foundation, safeguarding whatever incalculable means of worth within. Little bluebells adorned the front and the sides of the home, capturing the entity of innocence. Arthur almost felt regretful about ransacking it—it just looked too precious. "Are you sure this is the place?" He said.

"Yes it is, now be quiet. Leave the horses here." Javier slid off Boaz quickly and shooed the horse away, Arthur tried to do the same but his black mare had other ideas until he threw a sugar cube into the bushes which she cheerfully followed. 

The two men scurried till they got to the side of the house right underneath a window, trying to pinpoint any sounds that weren't natural within the environment. Arthur slowed his breathing while Javier pressed his ear against the wall, closing his eyes to focus. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: rustling of the foliage against the breeze, soft chattering of crickets and the faint music that traveled up from the saloon. But there was something about all of it that irked him. Something eerily sinister that seemed to waft up from beneath the ground like smoke. It sent a shiver down his spine, adrenaline beginning to spike. 

"Are we good?" Javier turned his eyes on him. 

"I don't know..." The other man ran his hand down the side of the house, trying to feel for any vibrations of movement. "It almost sounds too quiet." 

"Then that's good, Arthur. I don't hear anything, c'mon." 

Grunting, Javier lifted the window off its sill and climbed in. There was a brief moment where Arthur thought about abandoning him right there. Not that he normally would, a job is a job and needs to be done. But there was something just so off about the whole situation. It was as if he could sense that behind that window there was disaster waiting to happen. You could call it a sixth sense or just pure wisdom from too many other homestead jobs gone wrong, but right there he regretted not bringing his shotgun with him. Leave it to Javier to pick out a spot like this, he knew better, but more often than not the prospects of gold clouded his judgement harsher than any drink Arthur had ever seen him down. 

He stuck his hand out and lightly tapped on the windowsill before retreating back in the darkness. Arthur stood, sighing. Even the ground beneath his feet felt off, and no matter how hard he tried to shake the feeling away it settled atop his shoulder like a bad omen. He threw his leg over first then quietly put the rest of his body within the tiny space that Javier left open. He settled on the ground with a fumbling of his feet, causing the floorboards to creak loudly. 

"Quiet, _cabrón._ " Javier hissed, poking him from behind and shutting the window. "It should be somewhere either in the bedroom or the cellar." 

Arthur blinked, eyes trying to adjust to the setting. There was no light anywhere unless one counted the thin slits of moonlight coming from the windows, but the darkness obscured his vision so much that he found himself creating shapes that weren't there. Lightning-fast shadows darted in and out of view, faces of strange creatures forming then deforming against objects, movement of things that looked inanimate flashed in his peripheral. Another chill danced down the spine, causing him to shiver. He never believed in the supernatural, regardless of the countless stories he's heard over the campfire or read within the pages of a book. There was just no purpose that the concept served to him; it was something that he felt only poets used to liken their personalities to so that they seemed more interesting. He would witness how fear would set in to people's eyes when their minds couldn't comprehend what they were being told. Beings who stood taller than a moose and that drank the souls of lost travelers, or underground monsters that would pull people into the dirt beneath and devour their bodies, resurfacing only the bones. A harbinger of death and misfortune that settled within people in a way that no weapon ever could. The fear factor was in their obscurity: they only came out in the depths of the night or only revealing themselves during an eclipse.

All of it was pure horseshit—but in that moment Arthur actually felt scared—fearing that one of those beasts would jump out from beneath the darkness with their long fangs and hollowed skulls and take his soul down to the caverns of which they came. He shivered. 

Another poke resonated in his backside, "Hello? Are you listening?" 

He turned to face Javier, "No." 

Although he couldn't see it, Arthur could feel the searing annoyance coming off him like a heatwave. "I asked which one you wanted to take. Bedroom or cellar?" 

The sound of the cellar being darker than the house itself presented as a challenge to him. He hated the affect this whole place was having on his body: nervous twitches, resonating chills, increased anxiety, all of it. The only way to rid himself of it was to face it, for that was all he knew how to take on something he couldn't understand. Fight it. 

"I'm takin' the cellar. Meet me back here." 

Sharing a curt nod, the pair split off in their separate ways. Arthur watched as Javier's lithe form blended among the shadows, disappearing from sight. And just like that, the entire house seemed to gape its abyssal jaw wide enough for him to feel like he was going to get swallowed by the darkness. A thin line of sweat was now trickling down the side of his face. Why was he so nervous? So sure that everything about this place was set out to ruin him like a rabid dog on a carcass? He just couldn't shake the feeling, but regardless, he had a job set before him. 

Arthur stood, running his hands down his corduroy coat in an attempt to gather his nerves back to normal. He must've only walked a few steps forward before his vision was stuttered with the white contrast against the darkness of the wooden planks beneath it. Before his eyes could even figure out what it was, he knew that it was the outline of the murdered man's body in chalk. It shocked him at how he was splayed out: hands bent as if to clutch something behind his head, back twisted in ways that shouldn't be humanly possible, probably writhing from pain or trauma to the front, legs pointed in different directions; broken. They didn't bestow any mercy when they killed this poor fool. There was also the smell of putrid blood rising from in-between the cracks, causing Arthur to curl his lip in disgust and inch away from the rendition. The thought of someone you've dedicated your whole life to turning around and sticking a cleaver in your back made him appreciate never settling down—not that he necessarily had the chance to. 

He pressed forward, hands wandering for support as the walls seemed to grow closer with every step he took. His depth perception wasn't that great, so when he landed his foot a little too hard on the first step of stairs it caused him to lose his balance and trip, tipping against the railing with a loud _thump._

Time stood still and so did he, halting his breathing to see if Javier heard that, or more importantly—any passerby's. What felt like hours ticked by before it felt safe enough to continue on. 

So far, so good. No shouts or lanterns being shoved against windows. Arthur continued down the stairs, much more softly. 

He couldn't risk bringing attention to himself by giving himself light, so he relied completely on his senses to hopefully bring him to the right area. The darkness before in just the regular rooms was nothing compared to the pitch black he was in now. He didn't want to compare it to a grave, but it was exactly like that. Those images that plagued within the crevices of his mind had grown bolder and began to dance across his vision and whisper in his ears. They were so loud that he could no longer hear the air he was pulling and pushing out of his nostrils, wracking any thoughts of reason and logic so that he just stood there—completely still. 

And within that stillness, a noise came from the cellar that sent him reeling for his cattleman in a matter of seconds. 

It sounded as though something had fallen, something heavy. Like _gold_ heavy. The second that thing hit the floor it was as though someone had rung a bell within his mind and all those threatening creatures fled back from whence they came. He suddenly remembered why the hell he was here in the first place; it was for the gold, for the loot. It was existence in its entirety, all he knew and all he would ever know. 

Arthur shook his head to clear his thoughts and laid a hand on the door's handle. Just as he was about to open it, another sound came from it's depths. 

It must've taken him forever to process it because once he did it was over. Was that a giggle? and more importantly, a _woman's_ giggle? Like as in the same one who killed that fellow up the stairs, giggling? His hand clutched tighter against his gun, so much so that the leather from his gloves creaked around it. Thoughts racing, Arthur debated between going in bullets blazing or running back up the stairs to get Javier. 

"shit..." He whispered, fighting against himself and pulling the cellar's door open. 

If it truly was the murderess hiding within, then she knew how to kill. The image of a bloody-faced woman wielding a massive butcher knife screaming and running at him caused a much colder chill down his spine. He was to be killed right here in the darkness, never to see the light of day or the camp or Dena again. It definitely was a heavy weight on his shoulders...

but imagining the weight of those gemstones and necklaces propelled him even further into the corridor that was the cellar. 

Thankfully, being underground meant there was no outside light sources, no way anyone could see in or out. The realization hit him as he was halfway through the doorway, so Arthur pulled out his lighter and flicked it on, eyes falling in and out of focus, but once they did: 

There it was. Displayed like a steaming plate of steak, ready for the taking. Earrings inlaid with silver and emeralds, long thin ropes of strewn gold that swung against one another in playful colors: effervescent diamonds, alluring reds and dazzling blues. There were even colors that Arthur never new existed, pearls and rubies twirled across his vision like playful ballerinas. All of it was here, perfectly stashed away from daylight and its wandering gaze. Arthur had never felt so giddy in his life, smiling like a drunken idiot as he swept his lighter across the shelves, watching how the jewelry sparkled against it. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He reached his hand out to touch one of the rings that looked to be gathering dust from behind, it's peculiar shape as well as the hue of its gemstone standing out to him. To simply call it purple would be generalizing it, because it held so much more royalty than that. He held it up next to his lighter, watching how the singular flame painted the gemstone like a canvas of multitudes. Its reflection glowed against his eyes, brightening both body and soul. 

Arthur was too busy admiring to notice the cold blade being pressed against his throat. 

* * *

_"I dare you to scream, big boy."_

Her other hand reached out and tossed away the lighter out of his, reintroducing the darkness into the scene tenfold. She tried to fight the blood pounding in the back of her head, feeling like at any moment she would fall. She felt like she was swaying on her feet, rocking back and forth wanting it all to end with a peaceful slumber. Yet her iron will was stronger, fighting to rid her newfound territory of thieving scum. 

His body went rigid and his hands flew up. Like an songbird's morning melodies being interrupted, his breath hitched in his throat right where the blade was digging. The ring had fallen from his other hand with a sweet jingle. She bent down to pick it up, running her thumb over the cut stone, feeling its worth with touch. Another gorgeous steal, she shoved it in her pocket. Steadying herself against him, she pressed the knife harder. "Now why are you here?" Words flowed out as slowly as her mind allowed. 

What felt like minutes passed before it seemed he had the strength to respond. Her pre-existing notion of him being a lanky squeaky robber was thrown out the window the moment he opened his mouth and a gruff, mountainous voice greeted her. "I..I- didn't mean to intrude on your home madam. It's just that I'm a traveler—you see—and I got lost.." His voice trailed off into incoherent whispers, but right then she had thrown her head back and was cackling into the air. 

What? Does he think that she- by god he does. The murderess herself, hiding away in her cellar with all her gold to keep her company, waiting to strike. She had to laugh at his stupidity. Okay, let's play along. 

Composing herself, Thea began to channel her inner killer. Not that it was necessarily hard to do, with all the rum running in her veins.

"Mhmm... you definitely are intruding. You must know who I am then, yes?" 

She didn't realize how tall he was. Her head barely rising to meet his shoulder, it sort of shocked her at how easily she was able to hold that knife against his throat. He smelled like a snowy forest: laden with white-tinged leviathan redwoods and filtered grey light dancing between leaves. Firm, silent, majestic. She had to rear her head so as not to drink him in to a point of no return. 

He cleared his throat, "N-no ma'am, I don't." 

Thea giggled against his back, "Don't be foolish now, acting like you didn't see my poor husband all laid out for everyone to see," she paused for effect, "He just didn't love me like he used to. My broken heart just had enough." 

She stepped out from behind to his front know, still holding the blade firmly in place. Aware that they both couldn't see each other in that blinding darkness, she used it to her advantage. Running her hand down his chest softly and eliciting a cool exhale from him that parted strands of her hair. She didn't realize her face was that close. "And then I find you here, trying to take away all the pretty things he bought for me. Do you know how much that hurts? It's the last, tangible, thing I have of his memory." 

"I'm sorry." He struggled to push out his words from beneath the strength of the knife. "If you would be so kind as to let me leave, I'll forget this ever happened and won't say a thing."

Thea laughed harder this time, pushing herself forward and him backward until he slammed against another shelf, knocking off pieces of jewelry. The tip of his hat was resting atop her head, his intoxicating scent driving her closer than what she normally would've been uncomfortable with. Her fit rocked her, maniacal and effective. "Now what makes you think I'm just going to let you leave, mister? I haven't felt this kind of thrill in _forever._ "

She stumbled on her words more than she would've liked to, and with the way their faces were so close he must've smelled the rum on her breath because his whole demeanor suddenly changed. From trembling stuttering bandit to a calm, collected powerhouse of a man. 

"Oh?" He mused, "Here, I'll show ya thrill." 

Without warning, he grabbed the forearm that was holding the blade and twirled her around. She landed right where he was with a loud bang, knife now being pressed against her own throat as his hands bore down her body to keep her in place. A stagnated cry rang out as she felt the skin on her neck being torn, she hissed through clenched teeth. Fury bubbling up her chest, she fought against him as much as her drunken self allowed: kicking, pushing, wriggling and screaming. The hot pain from her neck only grew, as she was still pinned against the shelf. She gave up fighting him, realizing from the wetness of her lips that there were tears pouring down her face. 

"Awe come now, where'd all that confidence go? Wait, don't tell me, you was hiding behind a weapon to make yourself feel stronger than what ya actually are." His grip tightened, "A scared little girl." 

Somehow, he had found his lighter and snapped it on, the thin line of fire being the only thing that separated their faces. It wasn't enough for her to see all of him, just one side that was flickering in and out of view along with the flame. Thea was now able to match his face with his voice, in all its glory. A strong, clasped jaw lightly covered in facial hair, gathering and framing his lips nicely. She trailed her eyes upward to meet his own, bearing down with so much intensity that it caused her to gasp. They were so, purely full. Full with an array of colors that danced between the spectrum of blue and green, everything in-between. It was as though she was staring into a pond brimming with waterlilies and bouncing dragonflies, teeming with life. The orange glow only illuminated them even more, painting out a summer sunset along its side. She wanted to wade in and feel the breeze play with her hair and ripple against the water. Nothing could ever compare to how much, in that moment, she wanted to touch his face, just to see if what she was witnessing was real. Had her hands not been held against her throat, she just might've. 

All the fascination displayed on her face wasn't symmetrical with the contempt on his. Furrowed brows and curled lips as he too dragged his eyes up and down, taking in her expression. But she didn't blame him, she must've looked like a mess. But he didn't withdraw, they stayed like that, just... staring. 

"Just as I thought." He suddenly murmured, shattering her transfixed state. He blew out the flame, bringing back the dark. "Hey! Down here!" He called out.

Oh God he wasn't alone. He was going to kill her along with his buddies and they were going to... She began to shake. There were worse things than death. She tried to grapple at something, anything. Her wrist strained and she began to sob out of fear, "Please." Thea pleaded, her body beginning to go limp from shock. There was no fight in her anymore, all of it had been burned out along with the liquid courage. Her mind was trying it's best to fight the haziness and her slowed perception of time, elevating her adrenaline into complete drunken panic. She cursed and swore and promised to whatever deity up there that this was her last time drinking, ever. Just please help, do something, give her strength or give this man a heart attack, _something._

The sound of footsteps drew closer to the door, pounding in her mind the dawning idea of what was to come. Her desperation grew and she reached into her depths to pull out one final ounce of fight. 

"I'll kill you! Let. Me. Go!" She lifted her leg to kick his knee, causing him to stumble and lose his grip on her wrists. In an instant she darted out of his reach, not realizing that she had ran right into the arms of the other man, taking them both down to the ground. They landed, legs tangled while both chaotically fighting to best the other in order to stand back up. It was just too much for her: all the disembodied shouts coming from all sides and her swirling thoughts telling her to do multiple things at once, her head and body were aching so much, there was nothing she could to that would result in her winning this situation. The other man had found his way back to her and grabbed her by the arms, lifting her off the one on the ground. This time he held much tighter, bruising her skin and causing her to cry out in pain. 

"Mierda! Is that the wife?" He sputtered out, rising to his feet and picking up the lantern he dropped. Now, the entire cellar was well-lit enough for everyone to get a good look at each other. Thea's head was hung low with her dark hair covering up most of her face, defeat displayed all over her body. 

"Yeah. She tried to kill me, too," The other one sniffed, "nicked my neck with a knife. I thought you said she was long gone with her lover?" 

"It's what I was told. Shit." She must've knocked the wind out of him cause he was still struggling to catch his breath, smoothing out his clothes. A beat of silence ran between them as the two men composed themselves. Tears were still falling down her face and onto the wooden floorboards, seeping into the cracks. 

"Let me go.." she whispered. 

"Quiet." The man behind her growled, pulling out a piece of rope from his pockets and binding her hands with them, he then pried the blade out of her hands. "You sit here until we figure out what to do with you."

He walked her over to a wall and shoved her back to the ground, "Move, and I'll kill you." 

* * *

Arthur scowled at the woman for a moment longer for effect then slinked back to where Javier was standing, the radiating pain in his knee pronouncing itself with every step. Damn she got him good, it hurt so much that he could barely bend it to move his leg forward. He winced, but internally. He couldn't let neither her or Javier know that he got bested by a lady in a pitch black room. He shot one final glance in her direction, eyes landing on her pitiful form. She was still crying silently, clutching her knees as her black hair fell towards the ground. He never would've expected this night to turn out the way that it did: famed murderess hiding out in her cellar drunk off her knockers laughing with her jewelry. But he didn't expect her to be so... captivating. She looked like pure shit, don't get him wrong, but the way the fire danced in her brown eyes and the way she fought against him, vitally protecting her right to life made him question the sanctity of her as a human being. Was she absolutely terrifying? Yes. But she was also so frail and youth wavered in her body with every step she took. Nothing lined up with the image his mind would've conjured up if someone told him to picture a woman whose murdered her husband in cold blood. She just didn't look the part. She looked too mean to have ever loved anything in her life. He looked at the knife he took from her hand, a thin, scythe-like blade with a carved animal bone handle. There was a line of blood that ran along it, both his and hers. Visually, it meant nothing to him, but the fact that she was able to get in close enough to draw blood angered him. He never should've let her carry on as long as she did. Although she was the one currently cowering in defeat, he felt as though they shared that commonality. Arthur seethed, clutching his fist tighter around the knife as he stared at her. 

"You alright?" Javier interjected. 

He forced himself to turn away. "Yeah." 

"This place is a goldmine. I can't tell you how much it's all gonna add up together, but we're looking at thousands, Arthur." 

The promise of some prospects was enough to draw his attention back to the glittering shelves. He ran his eyes over them, noting that there were more necklaces than any other form of accessories. The stones paired with their chains would bring in more money than rings or bracelets. "Sounds like a job well done." He said. 

Javier stepped closer, bringing his head in and speaking in a low tone. "Do you think we should take her to the sheriff? She could have a pretty sweet bounty on her head." 

"Like we don't got our own bounties to worry 'bout. They'll lock us up right with her." Arthur shot back, pulling his satchel off his shoulder and beginning to toss some of the jewelry in, "we should just leave her here. She'll starve to death on her own." 

"Good idea. I'll search her to see if she's got anything on her." Javier nodded, pulling out his own bag and handing it to Arthur to fill. 

"Careful." He whispered back as he watched him stalk towards her, hand resting on his gun. She was laying on the ground now, her hair covering most of her face. Arthur had to strain to see if she was still breathing or not, peering as her chest barely picked up only to fall back down in strained breaths. That was definitively a rib-cage injury, and it was probably him who caused it. A small twinge of regret made itself known in his mind, but he pushed it away. 

Javier nudged at her with his shoe, trying to stir her into giving a reaction. Nothing. The environment seemed to fall completely still, as though everything in the room had its eyes on her. He bent down as though to inspect her further, hand wavering over her body as though he was making a decision on whether to touch her or not. He looked like he was trying to handle a snake, nervousness becoming all too apparent in his body language. "Is she-?" Javier used his finger to move the hair away from her face, then fell absolutely silent. His back was facing Arthur, but he could see that he didn't move his hand from her face, finger still lingering beneath the black waves that had now fallen behind her neck, and Arthur could see blood trickling from where the knife had cut. It didn't look good. 

Suddenly, he stood and faced him. All the color in his giddy expression had faded into a blank, grey stare. Shock wouldn't even begin to describe the look on his face, but it was the closest thing to it. Never in the time he's known him has he seen that look, it was like he'd just discovered something awfully grave. 

Arthur stopped his looting, "What?" 

"w-...we can't leave her here to starve." Javier's voice was now a low rumble, the seriousness in his voice was enough to make Arthur worried. "What do you mean we can't?" 

The other man turned and began to gather her in his arms, "You finish filling those bags up. Meet me by the horses when you're done." He lifted her with ease, her head rolling out from resting on his shoulder. He turned towards the door, but before he could open it Arthur stopped him with his hand. 

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing? She's a goddamn murderer, Javier. She's already half dead just leave her, c'mon." He urged. 

The look Javier gave was enough for Arthur to flinch, "I don't care! I'm not letting her die. You worry about fitting all that gold in there, I'm taking her to a doctor." 

"You're a goddamn fool risking your neck like this. Did you forget she tried to kill me?" Anger was beginning to rise in him, and he no longer cared about keeping the volume to a minimum. "Put her down and help me finish so we can go!" 

They were staring each other down, Arthur daring for the other to take another step with his eyes. Javier had gone red, face displaying both indignant rage as well as blatant shock at the whole situation. Nobody could've expected this, least of all them. What should've been a normal homestead robbery turned into... whatever this was. 

In the midst of all of it, the woman let out a soft, pained moan that turned both men's gazes towards her. Within that deep slumber there were still tears trickling out of her eyes, falling to the ground and mixing with the droplets of blood that fell from the injury to her throat. Arthur sighed. 

"You know this isn't how we do things, brother. I know you know better. Dutch taught us to be different than other outlaws." Javier muttered, taking the bandanna off his face and pressing it around her neck. 

Something softened within him and he let his hand fall, dropping a handful of golden trinkets. He shook his head, "And you're just like him. Masters of your own tragedies when it comes to pretty girls." Arthur motioned to the door, "go, I'll finish up here. Just-" he stopped to point his hand to whatever was awaiting Javier outside, "don't get caught." 

Javier nodded and quickly made his way out of the cellar, steps retreating up the stairs and eventually out of Arthur's hearing. He silently prayed that nobody out there would recognize him and call down the law, ultimately ending life as he knew it. 

Heaving out another sigh, he bent down to pick up the fallen jewelry and stashed them back in the bag. The pain in both his neck and knee still prevalent, pulsating with every movement. He's probably going to get the Reverend to take a look at it so it doesn't get infected. The atmosphere had changed so drastically in the matter of a few hours since he first entered it. All those monsters and shadows that flitted around seemed to vanish into thin air once this whole catastrophe started, but to be honest, he preferred being dragged to the depths of hell than to experience the events that just took place. 

Arthur began to clean the shelves of their belongings, driving all of it downwards with his palm and into the stash. He was about halfway done when he came across a particularly outstanding necklace, hanging neatly on a hook swaying back and forth from all the commotion he was kicking up. Its shape resembled that of a flower, nothing he was familiar with though. But the color, the color reminded him of her eyes when he first looked at her. Like he was gazing upon a caged hawk, ready to fight anything that dared cross its line of defense: intense, calculating, and potent. Nothing about them was welcoming and warm, nothing like he was used to. The way that the flame of his lighter seemed to replicate the burning blaze of ferocity within, it shook him down to his core. How could anyone ever feel love towards eyes like that? Her husband truly was the fool he initially took him for. Whatever Javier must've seen or heard had to have been part of her master plan to murder him too, but he was a grown man with his own choices, who was he to stop him? If she decided to stick another knife in his throat then so be it, he did what he could. Hopefully the injuries she sustained were enough to to hold her back, but that's all Arthur could do at the moment: hope. He tossed the brown-stoned necklace into the pile with a grumble. 

Finally after a few more minutes he finished picking those shelves clean, tied up the bags and slung them over his shoulder. He held Javier's lantern to light up his way back towards the stairs and back up and out of the house. He was glad to be done. 

Upon bringing the light back up into the rooms of the home Arthur could now see truly what all those shadows were. Quaint little pieces of furniture was scattered around, painted yellow flowers adorned the walls, a cozy fireplace nestled in the middle of it all. Nothing about this place was as scary as his mind first conjured it up to be. He walked the room, noting the dust settling on the handles of the chairs and the photographs. 

One of the pictures caught his eye, it was too obscured by dust to get a good look, so he picked it up and swiped it with his glove. A man and a woman vacantly stared back at him, time weathered on their expressions. From what he could tell, they seemed young. They must've been rich too, cause photographers were rare and the prices they charged scaled high. He turned the photo around, _Mr. & Mrs. Elwood, 1897. _

"So that's you—poor bastard." Arthur muttered, looking at Mr.Elwood then glancing towards the outline of his body splayed out on the ground in chalk. He shook his head, a heavy dose of pity overwhelming his chest. Life in all its extremities should never be about loyalty and trust being broken the way that this house had witnessed it. Whatever this man had dedicated his life to, all of it was gone in an instant. He guessed it must've been his wife, someone who would never let him down or hurt him in the way that other things do. All of it came down to choice, choosing to invest in one person with the hope that it's not wasted in the end. But for this dumb idiot, it was. 

He flicked his gaze over to her now, wondering if he could see that same intense look that he saw earlier. But much to his surprise, he was greeted with a completely different face, and a completely different set of eyes. He blinked, multiple times, as his mind seemed to sputter with two apparent realities trying to coexist into one. The woman in this photo had curly, long hair that was placed in two neat braids down her shoulders, and from the contrast of the picture, it was blonde. Her round face held cherub-like cheeks and low-set brows, lips that curled downwards into an everlasting somber manner. Arthur scanned up her face until he reached the eyes, inhaling sharply. They weren't round black points of void—not at all. The one thing he was relying on to confirm that the woman in the cellar was the murderess were the eyes, and now even that has been denoted. Dammit, they were as bright as the white background behind them. Mrs. Elwood, that was her. This was the woman that killed her husband and ran away with her lover, not the lady hiding in the cellar with all the jewelry who put a knife to his neck. Realization gave him a gut-wrenching punch to the stomach as his thoughts finally cleared to reveal her face and that same furious look back into view. 

He put the photograph back on the shelf and turned away, marching out the door. Now all he wanted to do was leave and forget this place and everything that ever happened inside it. Javier and him came for the jewelry, they got it, and now he's leaving. That's all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Arthur whistled for Dena who came trotting out of the shadows, midnight coat blending with the night sky above. Stars twinkled overhead, as though they were whispering to one another the tales of all that they witnessed below. He was grateful they couldn't see past roofs, but with all that commotion, there had to have been some stories. He tossed the bag over her back behind the saddle and tied it down with rope, making sure it was steady with pulled grunts. Dena was reaching back to him and ran her muzzle down his coat, as if signaling him that she was happy to see her rider safe and sound. 

"I'm here big girl. Don't worry." He cooed, patting her side and mounting. He threw his leg over the saddle with a pained hiss, clenching his muscles up so as not to let the horse's movements rattle his knee into becoming any more mangled. The sharp pain in his neck had subsided and he ran a finger over it, noting the delicate paper-thin cut the blade had administered, or more like, she had. 

He turned to look down on the town, worry settling in his chest as he scanned the empty walkways and bridges. A man carrying a woman bridal-style while she was passed out was nowhere to be seen, which was both good news and bad news. All Arthur could do in that moment was just hope for the best, which he did. 

Spurring Dena forward, he began to make his way down the hill and towards the outskirts of the town, deciding that it was best he not draw attention to himself while carrying a two massive bags of gold on his horse. He made his way past Boaz who was gently grazing beside a tree, rider nowhere to be seen. Arthur clicked his tongue at the horse, "Stay put, boah." Who responded with a flick of his ears. He smiled and pushed on, trying not to let fear take hold. 

It was hard to believe that everything that just happened only occurred in a matter of hours. The moon had traveled only a short ways up the sky, and people were still knocked out in their beds, blissfully unaware. All while he sat here, tortured by both physical and emotional injuries all experienced a mere moment ago. It was almost funny to think about it now, how he didn't even consider shooting her when he had multiple opportunities to, letting her have her way with him. It was so clear that she was drunk, too. The sweet, sickly scent of rum pouring out of her mouth as she spoke, enveloping him like a warm blanket. Now that she truly wasn't the wife, then who was she? Clearly she wasn't an ordinary townsman who just happened to wander out of the saloon and into a stacked cellar, she had to have known it was there. And now that he thought about it, her outfit seemed off too. Striped white collared shirt with black suspenders and dirt-caked jeans; no woman who held their honor at a material level would've dressed like her, gotten drunk like her, tried to fight two grown men like her.

An enigma was as close as he could get to describing it all, but coincidence didn't linger too far from his vocabulary neither. Whatever it was, destiny or just bad luck, it left a mark on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever get drunk and try to fight two big ass dudes in a cellar? Yeah, me neither.


	8. Wooden Embrace

_Horseshoe Overlook_

Dutch awoke with a start, cold sweat creeping down his spine. The forms within his nightmare still making their presence known through flashes within his mind, but for the life of him he couldn't remember why it had terrified him so. There were snippets of a woman running; black hair dancing in the wind, and he was chasing her through a flowery meadow. He couldn't remember if she was laughing... or screaming. He had felt so determined to catch her though, arms outstretched and desire coursing through his veins. Then, when their bodies finally connected, her skin felt rough and flaky to the touch. Her arms went above her head and split into multitudes of itself, leaves beginning to adorn the tips of her fingers. Obsidian locks turned into shades of green, extending to the sky as little yellow blossoms took the place of where her eyes and mouth once were, covering up her gaping and horror-stricken expression. In a snap of seconds, she had transformed right before his eyes into a fragment of what his dreams initially consisted of. The clouds overhead went dark and the meadow turned lifeless as he fell to his knees, grasping at her roots and weeping into the soil below. 

As the imagery eventually faded, Dutch couldn't shake off the harrowing feeling in his chest. Normally, he would be too stressed with the days' troubles to even have dreams, he would just land his head on the pillow and knock out. An occurrence like this was rare, and the fact that it affected him like this was even more out of the ordinary. Running a gang of outlaws had its perks and its downfalls, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what this was. 

A sigh turned his attention to his side where Molly was sleeping, a shadow of a smile on her rosy lips and eyes blissfully shut tight. Red curls lay obediently against her neck and chest, never once tousled unless he himself was involved in making it so. She was the epitome of walking on a cloud; the way she loved him made him feel like he was weightless—unformed. Constantly vying to replace the hole in his heart where another once lay through her over-the-top romantic gestures and distracting him with her body. But that was exactly why his love for her was beginning to fade, he no longer wanted to feel that way because he's now aware of how unrealistic it all is. Ever since Blackwater, the consequences of reality were beginning to set in, he had been grounded. But still, his selfish desires kept her here, tied down to the harsh truths of life on the run. 

He blew air at her hair until a curl went astray and went across her eyes, disturbing her peace as she swatted it away, grumbling. Dutch smiled. 

It was still dark outside as he rolled out of his bed, careful not to disturb her as her breathing evened back out and she fell within her slumber once more. He pulled out a cigar from his pocket and just as he was about to light it, another image of his dream flared up in his thoughts: the woman's body being pressed against his, the sound of clothes being torn off, soft moans against hot skin... a name being said over and over. 

He felt his ears beginning to burn. Perhaps that wasn't part of his dream. But it felt so tangible that it might as well have been. 

Dutch took a long drag of the cigar to clear away his thoughts as he stepped out of his tent, taking in the environment. Broken beer bottles were scattered around, most of the boys had flayed themselves where-ever the ground accepted them, snoring into the grass. Particularly Bill, who still had his drink in hand. The girls were tucked underneath their blankets, curled into each other for warmth. The esteemed were up in their tents, obscured from view. Dutch lifted his gaze to look at the scenery behind the camp, noting how the forest and mountains seemed to envelop them in a net of safety, at least, that's how he preferred to see it. They weren't running, they were just reeling back for the big punch. Once he had it figured out, everyone was going to be in for a big surprise: those pompous idiots in Blackwater, the tyrannical lawmen, and all those bloodthirsty bounty hunters who Dutch knew were the ones chasing him hardest. If only they knew all the things he had in store for them, they would turn tail and run. This was his gang—he was their leader—he had to protect them. Everyone from Hosea to Jack depended on him to keep them safe, especially in times like this where the only option available is to hide out. But he was going to come up with something extraordinary, and they just had to keep faith. For it was the only thing keeping them together; faith. 

His gaze landed on Arthur's tent, which was strangely closed up and lit from within. He had to strain his hearing to realize that there were hushed, angry voices coming from inside, ruining the calm atmosphere of the night. From what he knew, Arthur returned without Javier and when Dutch asked, he said that he 'had somethin' to take care of' while avoiding his eyes. He didn't pay much more attention to it because he was distracted by the big bag of gold the man was carrying, the sound off all the trinkets within clanging against one another was music to his ears. 

But when he looked towards the horses he saw that Javier's was now back in its place alongside Arthur's, and Dutch smiled at the similarity of their horses' height differences besides their own: Arthur's new mare towering over the little pinto much like how her stubborn, hot-headed rider had to dip his chin to look at his smaller, but much smarter one. Surely from what he saw the job must've gone well, so why on Gods' earth were they arguing, especially this late at night? 

Dutch inched towards the man's tent, idly taking a puff here and there to make it look like he wasn't being nosy. 

_"You what? Paid the doctor's fee? Just what the hell's wrong with you!?"_

_"She wasn't going to survive if I hadn't! And besides, it wasn't even that much."_

_"How much."_

_"... Like forty dollars?"_

_"Forty-"_

_"Okay that's a lot. But here's the thing Arthur—I knew her."_

_"Oh so you're gonna dish out forty dollars for every other goddamn woman you see cause' you know her. You're the biggest idiot I've ever met."_

_"Will you shut up? Acting like there's not hundreds of dollars in that bag. I knew her, so I did her a favor. That's all."_

_"And how do you know her, huh? She some waitress, barmaid or whore you fell for? We were compromised as it was and you just decided to be the hero, hm?"_

_"Dios mío, you sound like a jealous wife. Calm down, alright? We're fine, she's fine, everything's fine."_

At this point, Dutch had gotten so close that the flaps of the tent were brushing against his cheek. Curiosity spiked in his throat, daring to jump out as he planned on how to intrude on this seemingly very personal argument between the two men. Should he just keep it quiet and retire back to his tent, letting them keep their intimate secrecy, or become involved although this probably doesn't have any effect on their day-to-day lives? 

His choice was given to him as Javier's face immediately pulled up right up to his as he opened the tent. They just stared at each other with blank expressions. Dutch tried to play it off by taking another drag out of his cigar, but it had burned out and he just looked like an idiot. "Uh...hey there, son." 

"Dutch?" Javier stammered, eyes widening as Arthur came from behind him, equally shocked. 

"Just came to see how that homestead job went." He straightened his shirt, "you two seem okay and that bag Arthur brought in looks and sounds like good pickings." 

Arthur passed a hand through his hair, clearly trying to ignore the awkwardness in the air, "Um, yes. The job went just fine, Dutch. It's just that something... rather unusual happened that I'm still trying to wrap my head around." He narrowed his gaze at Javier who rolled his eyes in return. 

Dutch nodded slowly, still trying to make sense of what he heard. "Well, why don't you both enlighten me? It's too late to tell me tomorrow." 

The smaller man let his head hang, sighing then signaling to one of the tables. "Might as well sit down then." 

They moved towards one of the outer benches and sat down so that they were out of earshot from the rest of the sleeping members. Dutch looked at Hosea, making sure that the older man was in deep sleep. As much as his companionship was vital to all the camp's proceedings, there were just some things that he did better, like sorting minor feuds in between bank heists and train robberies. It was little things like this that he valued, so a part of him was sort of happy that he was woken up with that bad dream to be able to revel in moments like this. He took one of the lanterns sitting on the table and screwed it on, light illuminating both of the men's irritated faces. He now noticed a thin gash right on the top of Arthur's throat, like someone reconsidered cutting straight through it. It had scabbed over, but still shone red next to the firelight. Dutch flicked his eyes to Javier who was huffing with indifference, playing with his mustache and looking off into the distance. 

It was Arthur who started, "Everything was going as planned. The house itself belonged to a husband who was killed by his wife," a dark look went across his face, "and _he_ told me that she was long gone with her lover." 

Javier muttered something under his breath, but Arthur continued, "So I go into the cellar and find what we're looking for, which was all her jewelry that she left behind. I mean, it was the best find I've had in a while, I was shocked." 

Dutch tried to remember that feeling. Finding something so worth your while that everything else seemed to fade into the distance. Nothing equated to it, not even the entire world with it's back turned on you. "Go on," He urged, scratching his chin. 

"All of a sudden I find myself with a knife to my throat by a drunk woman swearing somethin' deadly in my ear bout her murdered husband. I was scared beyond belief, Dutch." What looked like memory of the occurrence flashed across Arthur's face and he reached under, plucking a beer from the crate beneath the bench. 

"Scared. Of a woman. Who was also drunk." Javier cut in, grabbing the beer Arthur just got for himself, popping it open and swigging it snidely at the other man's crossed look. "That's the thing though, she wasn't the wife. I saw a picture of them in the bedroom and that didn't look anything like her." 

"Whoever the hell she was, she tried to take on the both of us and I ended up gettin' my knee pounded." Arthur now grabbed a second bottle and secured it by wrapping both hands around it, "Anyway. I managed to fight her off and she knocked out, but then _Casanova_ here," 

Javier snorted then laughed, "Just doin' my part brother, gotta pick up the slack for you boys, you know." He passed a look between Arthur and Dutch and took another drink of his beer. 

Dutch hated to hear it, but he was right. Those days of spending hours at saloons and restaurants eyeing girls were over, especially now that they were on the run. He smiled to himself as he remembered those celebratory moments after a good heist where they would all go down to the saloon for beers, red with glory. It was here that truly separated the type of men they were: the ones with little respect for themselves showed little respect for the things they wanted. Bill, Micah, Sean, Javier, and even John on occasion would jeer out their desires, lapping at the sight of exposed skin or even long lashes. The more reserved ones showed some decency and tried to avoid too much interaction, like Charles, Arthur, Lenny, and Trelawny would let their minds control their actions instead of what was between their legs. It was honorable and it saved their own skin from all the trouble a pair of pretty eyes and pretty thighs could get you. He personally didn't know where he fell on that scale, it had been too long and too much happened for him to recollect the past right now. All he could do in this moment was appreciate the calmness, and that was enough. 

"He goes to loot her then stops dead in his tracks. He looks like he's seen a dead man walking—all grey in the face." Arthur said. 

Dutch leaned forward and tried to make sense of all that he's being told, "sounds like you knew this woman, son. Who was she?" 

Javier had gone silent now, a solemn look taking over his expression. He fiddled with his bottle, running one of his fingers up and down the shape of it, looking like he was fighting something within the confines of his mind. He then nervously shook his head, "I-.. I can't tell you that, Dutch. Just trust me when I say you're better off not knowing." 

Arthur rolled his eyes and Dutch furrowed his brows, confusion clearly striking the both of them. "Now why on earth-" He started. 

"Trust me, okay? Have I ever let you down before, Dutch? Or even you, with that stupid righteous look you always have on your face." 

It was apparent that the subject of the strange woman's identity was sensitive to him, and that the actions he took with that knowledge weren't driven by material needs, there was an emotional aspect to it that Dutch saw in Javier, in the way he guarded the information of her so close to his chest, that not even his brothers in arms could know. 

"Not yet, but don't think for one second I'm going on another job with you again," Arthur responded then turned to Dutch, "Then he goes and carries her all the way to the doctors in his arms and leaves me to do all the heavy lifting to get back here and now I find out that he paid forty goddamn dollars for her troubles." 

Dutch exhaled deeply, "That's... a-lot." 

The smaller man chugged his drink, finishing it and slamming the bottom of it on the table, his anger visible. He rose from the bench and took out his loose ponytail, revealing straight hair that fell just atop his shoulders in a swift motion. It was longer than Dutch's or John's, but shorter than Charles', he had never seen it taken out from the little ribbon it was tied back with. It looked nice and it framed his face well, like the true desperado he was. He was about to comment on it, but Javier had other ideas. 

"I'm not going to sit here and take this. I showed a little decency, for once, just like you always tell us to, right Dutch? I don't get how when it's him or John doing the right thing you bring the world down to its knees in praise and love, but the second it's someone like me in the camp you're choosing his side," He pointed at Arthur, "Who, by the way, was comfortable with leaving her there to die like the _puto_ he is." Javier paused to take a sharp breath, "there's your golden boy, Dutch." 

Before either of them could properly react Javier turned on his heel and walked off towards his tent, running both hands in his hair and shaking it free of stress. Although there was truth to his words, whatever rebuttal Dutch had would've been useless if he spoke it to the open air. He loved Javier and all the qualities that he possessed, both good and bad. There never was a better man to liven up one's day with his musical talents, and his skills in marksmanship proved to be valuable ever since Dutch first laid eyes on him. He never realized that he was making note of who Dutch praised and showed compassion for, although he never felt that it was really that biased towards Arthur and John. 

A beat of silence passed through the scene, before it was broken with an annoyed sigh, "Whatever. All I'm sayin' is if I see her again I'm gettin' revenge for my knee." 

Dutch chuckled, "I think your ego's more bruised, Arthur. Walk it off." 

"I shouldn't have gotten angry at him like that. Besides, it's not really my business." He muttered, taking a slow sip. "It's just the way he dropped everything for her, like we weren't outlaws with every lawman and bounty hunter in the state after us." 

"Don't read too much into it. He's right, you know. I do give you and John more liberties to commit acts that aren't what I've taught you, which is the same as what I've taught him and Bill." 

Arthur let his temple be held up by his hand, "I 'spose so. Maybe it's cause we've just been 'round longer than them _—_ we just know better." He yawned.

Dutch played with one of his rings, twirling it around so that it glinted off the light. "What was that about leaving her there to die? You, more than anyone, should know that we don't hurt those who don't deserve it." 

A look of defeat ran across his already-sleepy expression. He tilted his head back and drank the rest of his beer in deep gulps, sucking at his teeth afterwards. It was amusing how he would play off his swaying intolerance for alcohol, hiding his reactions at the bitterness or burning of a particularly strong drink. But Dutch knew better than to out his little guises, for he knew it was part of his character as the fiercely loyal, unwavering right hand of the Van Der Linde gang. 

"I was scared. Thought it was her who took the poor bastard's life. Maybe I thought I could do him some justice if I let her die, but..." He trailed off, closing his eyes as though he remembered something, something so bittersweet that one had to experience it without any distraction from the outer world. "Somethin' came over me, I think. I couldn't tell ya even if I wanted to." He reopened his eyes to look at him, now red with exhaustion. 

Dutch took a moment to take him in, then sighed softly. "Alright, son. It's alright. You've had a long day, especially with this morning's accident with Miss Karen." 

Arthur scoffed and rose to his feet, "I'm never goin' hunting at dawn again, or goin' out house-robbing at night." 

They shared a quiet chuckle before Dutch waved him off, "Get some rest, then. I'll tell the others not to bother you for a while during the day." 

The man nodded his thanks then shambled off to his tent, another loud yawn shaking him. Dutch watched him go, making sure this time that no lights peered out from inside or no angered whispers came out from between the flaps. Everything seemed to still once more—everything except for him and his racing thoughts. He looked over to where Javier had settled besides Bill, his smaller form covered over by darkness. A pang of remorse hit his chest as the words he spoke replayed in his ears, _you bring the world down to its knees in praise and love_. Nothing hurt him more than the thought of his proteges feeling overshadowed because of him. There was never a moment in time where Dutch didn't want to be the charismatic crusader that all those newspaper stories and bounty posters portrayed of him, it boosted his ego in a way. He enjoyed it when people saw him as anarchic and ruthless in challenging authority. But that was him to the outer world _—_ to those who could never see who he truly was _—_ which was a leader. And a leader is what he wanted those who did know him to see him as, but no leader only praises some for the same deeds committed as the others. He internalized it now, those words that Javier spoke, and will hopefully try to redirect it in the future to prevent that phrase from ever being spoken again. 

Sleep was nowhere to be found when he wanted it, and right now it seemed as though all of the world was under the same blanket while he was left out. Left with that vicious nightmare that woke him earlier. 

It began to run through his thoughts again no matter how hard he didn't want it to. The scholar in him tried to find morale within it, but what was the message of a woman who turns into a tree? He remembered feeling chasms of pain, aching in his chest at the sight of her, yet in reality he didn't know who she was at all. Her anonymity plagued him, for he could do nothing about it but try and forget. 

On the edge of the sky, pink began to creep its way onto the horizon, signaling the first sprigs of day. It won't be long before eventually the others would wake and things would take their usual turnabout, but he had spent one part of his night chatting with his boys and the other trying to make sense of his chilling nightmare. He wasn't tired at all, but knowing himself, it would affect his mood if he didn't at least make an effort to catch a wink of shut-eye.

Dutch made his way back into his tent, gaze landing on Molly's still sleeping form. The sight of his pillow made his stomach turn, but he pushed the feeling down and quietly settled into his cot—sighing.

Hopefully this time 'round, he could actually get some rest. 

* * *

_"You must know the story of Apollo and Daphne, then? "_

"No." She would reply, clearly distracted by something. 

_"Ah. It's a sorrowful tale, one of unrequited love."_

White sand covered her bare feet in a warm embrace, gulls cried overhead and the blue coastal waters matched the turquoise sky above. The air smelled of olives and freshly baked bread, caressing the atmosphere. "Tell me."

_"He was the God of Literature and Music, and she was a nymph of Artemis, never having the desire to fall for man. He mocked the God of Love—Eros—for his childish weapons, angering him. Eros, in retaliation, shot a golden-tipped arrow into the heart of Apollo and a black, lead one into Daphne's. He fell instantly, wanting to wrap her in his arms and show her how much his love could give. She feared and hated him, running to get out of his grasp."_

They were sitting beneath a tree, laden with yellow blossoms for the spring. "That's cruel of Eros." 

_"Yes."_

"Go on."

_"Apollo began to chase her, his heart pounding with desire while hers with terror. They ran and ran and ran, equally matched in speed and driven by equally strong forces. Daphne knew there was no way out of this with her remaining pure and untouched, so she cried out to her father, the great river god, to save her. He heard his daughter's pleas and suddenly, her legs began to feel heavy and she was slowing down, rooting into the earth. By the time Apollo caught up and his hands finally reached out to touch Daphne, they found the hard, rough trunk of a tree."_

A breeze ruffled through them disturbing their clothes playfully. She found herself laying back into the sand, coating her body in the grains as sunshine heated her face. "Why would her father do that to her? He's also cruel."

_"These are Gods and Goddesses, Amalthea. We cannot speak for their actions, we can only tell their stories."_

"I don't like stories that are sad." She said. 

_"Happy tales are rarely remembered, child. Do you want to know what happened next?"_

"Fine..."

 _"Her arms turned into branches and her fingers turned into leaves, forever held in place. Apollo's heart shattered and he cried while trying to place kisses where her face used to be. Daphne had turned into a laurel tree, just like this one."_

She turned her head up to look at the tree looming above her, draping its protective shadow to shield them from the heat. She smiled at the thought of a beautiful nymph hiding within the bark, watching her. 

_"_ _In his heartbreak, he promised to tend to her every day and adorn her leaves as a symbol of wisdom and success. Which is why you see champions wearing wreaths made of laurel, the emblem of Apollo. She was very lucky."_

"Daphne didn't deserve that!" She exclaimed while throwing a fistful of sand, "it's not a love story at all." 

_"That's fate, Amalthea. It was Daphne's to transform into a tree, it was Apollo's to fall in love with her, and it was Eros's to strike them with opposing arrows. It's something not even the most powerful of monsters and gods can control."_

She was never one for stories, all they ever contained were great escapades of the heroes who slayed terrifying beasts and the many children they fathered with different mothers. It never interested her, and they all sounded like they stemmed from the same things. They catered to weak minds and malleable souls, easily influenced by tales crafted to spur people into doing stupid things in the name of achieving favors and fame. She turned backwards to stare at the crystal clear waters lapping at the shore of the beach, eyes going in and out of focus. "I just hope my fate isn't as tragic." 

_"To find out,_ _you have to live your life as truthfully as you can."_

\---

Her head was pounding, her chest was aching with every strained breath, even the cut on her neck was shooting sharp tendrils of pain through her body. Everything hurt, everything. Voices faded in and out of her hearing as a constant, shrill ringing remained. It was a struggle to even get her eyes to open, and when she did she was met with another rolling wave of pulverizing agony. A whimper escaped from her lips as she looked down to find a thick white bandage wrapped around most of her torso, painted with splotches of dried blood. Oh no, was she naked? She looked over to see her striped shirt and suspenders draped over the chair next to the bed. She tried to remember what possibly could've constituted her to end up like this. All that her mind allowed was the events that happened before she got severely drunk, which was the decision to ransack the home, but anything after that had gone blank. Whatever must've happened, she knew she was lucky to be alive, which was unfortunately not what she was hoping for.There were reasons behind a person who's clearly aware of their lightweight tendencies to drink to the point of blacking out. The stress from picking up the Van Der Linde bounty as well as the recent events in Strawberry had sent her over the edge, not to mention the esteemed letter from Armadillo. Everything was just... so hard. And she was so incredibly foolish for thinking that she could handle this sort of thing. God, her and her stubborn ways. A tear had managed to make its way down her face and into the slit on her throat, its salt mixing with the wound and causing her to bite her lip from pain. How did she get cut there? She lifted her hand to run a finger across it, a sudden flash of a knife along with blazing blue eyes coming into her mind. Did she...run into someone in the house? Did they do this to her? Her body was too exhausted to even process her shock right now. 

Blinding daylight entered the room as Thea began to slowly look around, pupils adjusting to every twitch. It took her a moment to figure out that she was in a doctor's office, with the dead giveaway of tonic posters and scary medical utensils openly laid out for her to see. Anxiety climbed up her throat as her breath hitched, she had to get out of here. She grunted with effort and managed to sit up, sweat beginning to glean off her forehead. 

"Just what do you think you're doing!?" A squeaky voice called out and she whipped her head around to see a thin, lanky man rushing towards her, stethoscope in hand. "You're going to displace your bones if you don't lay back down this instant!" 

Cold, wiry hands were placed on her exposed skin and pushed her back down despite her attempts to fight them. "N-no...I have to get out-" 

His thick glasses glinted in the sunlight and he tutted, "Absolutely not! You've got two cracked ribs my dear and I'd like to keep it that way so it's imperative you lay still." She could hear the faint shadow of an English accent tainted with his words. Thea groaned and hit her palm against her forehead, clearly still bleary but nonetheless irritated with the situation. 

The doctor began to assess her injuries one by one with his stethoscope, pressing it gently against her skin as he intently focused on the rhythms of her breathing and heartbeat, careful not to hurt her too much. "Hmm. Your breathing's gotten a little less tight which is good. You're looking at about a week or two until somewhat normal function." 

_"What."_ She clenched her jaw, stress beginning to spike back up in her body. 

"I think you should be very grateful that they're not broken because then it would be months." He grinned snidely, which caused her to scowl in return. "Thankfully you were brought in the night you sustained them, and I bandaged you up before anything worse could happen." 

It took her a moment to process what he said because she was still fuming about his previous sentence, but once she did, she widened her eyes. "Brought in? How did I get here?" 

He took off his glasses and placed them in his pocket, "A very nice young gentleman took it upon himself to bring you here after he found you unconscious behind a saloon. No place for a young woman such as yourself to be." 

Time seemed to stop as bits of her memory began to fade back in. Behind a saloon? Impossible. She was inside the house looking for the gold and then- oh. She was fighting someone, particularly someone much taller than her who had a really deep voice and smelled really nice. There was definitely a knife involved, and now the gash on her throat made sense. His blue-green eyes flared up in her thoughts again and she remembered the words he growled in her ear. _'A scared little girl'._ She shuddered.

"What did he look like, this nice young gentleman?" 

The doctor looked out the window at the people passing by, the wrinkles on his forehead becoming more prominent as he furrowed his brow for a moment as though he was thinking. "I'm certainly not the best judge of appearance but he had... odd clothes, a rather strange hat, and a weirdly cut mustache. Now that I think of it he certainly did stand out, a bit like you do." He turned to look back at her and smiled. 

Thea took into account all the details he provided. From what she remembered the man she encountered didn't look like that at all. She frowned, stumped and annoyed. 

"But he was so worried for you, my dear. He even paid all the fees before leaving." 

What? Who the hell was this guy? Certainly not the bartender, nor the hotel manager who kicked her out. Could it have been Sheriff Hanley or one of his deputy goons who found her at the house, or someone completely different? Things were just getting weirder and weirder. "And he didn't give you his name or anything that could help me figure out who he is?" 

"Oh!" He moved towards his desk then pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from within, "He left this for you." 

She reached out and took it from his hand, careful not to exert herself too much on account of her injury, but her interest was definitely piqued at the strange identity of this mystery hero who took it upon himself to get her to a doctor's office and not leave her in that cellar to die, as he should've. The paper looked like it had been through some hard times—all crumpled and ripped at the edges. It took her a minute to straighten it out enough to read the words scribbled in black ink. 

_Told you we'd meet again._

_Wish it were under different circumstances,_

_but I've kept my promise. Now,_

_will you keep yours?_

_J.E._

Suddenly the room began to spin. Waves after waves of anxiety paired with nausea, tension, pain and other things she couldn't explain washed over her like a typhoon. It cleared out her memory too, leaving everything out like an open wound. Those minuscule flashes turned into prolonged sequences where all her senses could justify their reality. She was brazenly drunk, decided to ransack the home of the bounty whose murder she faked, and somehow locked herself in the cellar with all the jewelry. Then, hushed voices above, meticulously planning to take what was hers. Rage—indignant, fiery rage boiled in her blood at the thought of having to give up her well-deserved loot. They separated, one going into the room above her head, the other's footsteps drawing closer and closer to the door. And like a prized idiot, she forgot her guns on her horse. All she had to defend herself was her hunting knife, but by God was she going to make the best of it. She blew out her lantern and waited, thinking like a nimble predator awaiting it's unsuspecting prey. The door opened and he heard his stunned gasp at the sight of all those goods, but by then she was already slinking close, ready to strike. 

And the rest... the rest felt like a blip in time. The pain of her back hitting the shelves, all the jewelry poking into her skin. That must've been when her ribs got injured. She couldn't remember what she said to him or how he managed to retaliate everything back on her, but she did remember the look in his eyes as he put the lighter up next to her face. Their color, the way she wanted to reach out and touch it, then he said those words to her. _'Scared little girl'_

Then somehow, she managed to wriggle out of his grip and land a good blow to his knee, but as she was trying to escape she fumbled into another body. Rough, calloused hands were on her again and pulled her off the other man, tight rope being wrapped around her wrists and slammed her against a wall that hurt twice as much as when he slammed her against the shelf. Then... it went dark. She remembered feeling terrified at the thought of what they might do to her, but it turned out that one of them took her to a doctor to be treated, and even paid for the fees. 

But then that means that the man who brought her here was... Javier. The same Javier who she met in a lively saloon on a hot night in Armadillo, the one who complimented her alpaca coat, who made that empty promise of seeing her again. It was him, and he found her. He fulfilled the destiny behind his words, as crazy as they sounded the night he spoke them. On any other day, in any other circumstance, she might've been elated at the thought of seeing him again. 

Yet now... a destiny of hers had been achieved too. She was now after him, after the life he lives, after the ideals he stands by, all in the name of the law. How could she possibly hunt him down now, with everything that he's done? A part of her- no - most of her just wished he'd left her in that cellar to starve and rot away, leaving the job of capturing him and his gang open to someone with a stronger mentality than hers, and a stronger tolerance for alcohol. 

Fate and destiny _—_ two cruel masters of afflicting the worst blows she's ever witnessed. She was tied into it now, and there was no backing out. 

"Everything alright?" The doctor's squeaky voice splintered into her thoughts as she realized she had crushed the paper into her hands. He was leaning towards her face, a puzzling look donned on his expression. "You're looking rather pale, perhaps some food and water? The man who owns the general store makes a lovely jam sandwich." 

Thea cleared her throat of emotion and responded, "Not right now, thank you. But can you tell me how long I've been out?" 

He went to sit down on a desk opposite from her bed and began to scribble something in a notebook, "About a day and a half, madam. It's almost five in the afternoon right now." 

"Day and a half." She repeated, placing the note on the stand next to her. As much as her mind was pumping out new things to think about, exhaustion had found its way back and began to show through her slowed breathing and relaxing muscles. She was rather comfy at this moment, pulling the fleece blanket up to her neck while still making sure not to disturb the bandage across her chest. 

The doctor must've noticed this, too, for he quietly rose from his desk, "I'll leave you to rest, then." As made his way out of the room, he stopped and leaned on the doorway, looking back at her, "You should consider yourself lucky you got saved when you did. Not everyone gets second chances, and certainly not in a place like this." 

Lucky. She smiled to herself as he left. A familiar story about another lucky lady being saved by fate flickered into her thoughts, but she was too tired to digress on it. All she could gather was that it wasn't a story she enjoyed or agreed with. But it remained with her after all those years when she first heard it on the beaches of Greece, listening to the gulls crying above, sitting beneath a laurel tree. 

Thea drifted off to sleep dreaming of running through a flowery meadow, hair billowing in the wind, laughing to the open sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism and feedback is welcome!


	9. Bruised Egos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angst.

"Its been three days and I'm completely fine. Look, see?" Thea outstretched her arms and took a deep breath, ignoring the obvious pain radiating within her chest, but she had to play her best or else she'd never get out of here. "I'm-" she winced suddenly, a dead giveaway. Dammit. "-perfectly fine." 

The disbelieving look the doctor gave her sent her huffing back into her cot, the thick bandage around her chest shifting with every movement. 

Staying cooped up like a prized hen had turned from a slight nuisance into a straight up aggrievance. Everything felt as though it was dragging: seconds, minutes, hours and days. All the things she found interesting when she first arrived were now boring, and aside from the open window, she hadn't experienced a fresh gulp of air ever since she came. The thought haunted her—now everything felt even more restricting. She sighed into her pillow. It wasn't as dreadful as she was making it seem, she was just being dramatic. The doctor was kind and tried to invoke her out of her boredom when he had the chance to, and the food he brought wasn't half-bad. Other people would come in seeking his attention with cases that tipped the scale in either directions, some being so bad that all he could do was give a small shake of his head and others who didn't look injured or sick at all, but bought bottles of tonics. From her perspective, it was crazy to see everything moving around you instead of you moving with it, like how she was used to. Bodies would drift and voices would travel to and fro like buzzing bees, while she would remain like the tranquil flora they danced around, watching their every move and wishing she too could outstretch her wings and fly away. 

He came up beside her bed, peeking out the window at the morning sky. "How does breakfast sound? Jam and toast?" 

Thea rolled over to look up at him, black hair falling over her eyes, "I've had jam and toast for four days straight." 

"Four? Why, you've only been here for three-" 

"Had it the day before I ended up here. The day I went after that bounty I told you about." She responded, propping herself up on her elbows to look out the window as well. 

In a moment of vulnerability blinded by unbearable pain, and in an effort to get her mind off things, he had asked her about her profession. The painkillers hadn't kicked in yet and she was uncontrollably shaking with fever, mind whirling. When she told him through chattering teeth that she was a bounty hunter, he said that he wasn't surprised, that she looked like she'd witnessed the things only someone who hunted other human beings could've seen, which sent a different kind of chill down her spine because of how true it was. He didn't ask anything more for she had passed out from the medicine, but resumed after she stirred awake, curious about her endeavors—and she told him, words rolling off her tongue like it were a normal conversation. And he watched her as she was telling him, expression and judgment both remained unchanged. 

Now he was still gazing outside and waved at a passerby who knew him. "Would you like to go down to the store and pick up something new for a change?" 

She brightened immediately, the promise of even a short-lived freedom was sweeter than any nectar she'd drank. "More than anything I've ever fucking wanted." 

The doctor stifled a smile then shook his head, "still haven't gotten used to all that cursing. Alright, careful now as you stand." 

Thea grunted with effort as she rose back to her feet, a little wobbly but he steadied her. She grabbed her shirt and managed to put it on, buttoning over the thick bandage with a heaving sigh as it tightened around her chest uncomfortably. But nonetheless, she was able to go out, better fight through the pain as best she could. Wincing while reaching up to tie her hair back, her eyes landed on the crumpled note idly sitting on the stand beside her, his initials standing out like blood on fresh snow. It sent her mind reeling back to that fated night, embarrassment flooding pink onto her cheeks and bruising her ego even more. Out of everything that happened—the one thing that pissed her off more than anything was the fact that she came out of it empty handed. When she managed to recall taking the ring the other man was inspecting and putting in her pocket, she went to look for it and found her things picked clean. The ring, the seventy five dollars from the bounty, even her goddamn amethyst necklace she got from Armadillo. All of it. Gone. When she had realized, her rage couldn't be sated; there was a lot of screaming, crying, and swearing. It took almost all of her remaining strength not to start throwing chairs and punching walls. Once she had gotten it out of her system, Thea went silent for hours, not eating anything the doctor brought her or taking medication, wanting to let her physical pain overtake the emotional turmoil she was facing within. On one hand, Javier saved her. From what or from who was still blurred. He brought her here and paid for her fees, showing more compassion in those few hours than she'd ever experienced her whole life. He could've left her there to die at the hands of the other man or even himself, but he didn't. On the other, he stripped her of her belongings and made the decision for her to continue her life being locked up in here with cracked ribs and a gash on her throat to show for it. It was painstakingly humiliating, especially for someone of her caliber, with the life that she lived. She was the one who was supposed to deal those kinds of injuries, not receive them. 

Yet regardless of how she felt towards him at the moment, what couldn't be overshadowed was the fact that she had his bounty poster in her satchel. He was her objective—her prey. So why did she feel like she got bested? 

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she fought to keep them away, forcing her gaze from the letter down to her trembling hands. She felt herself begin to sway, her vision dotting. 

The doctor's steady grip came up once again to keep her still, "Perhaps another day, then." 

"No. We're going." Thea said, going steel-eyed. 

He nodded then made his way towards the entrance, putting on a flat cap and grey coat. She followed with deep breaths to even herself out, squinting to adjust to the blinding sunlight the moment he opened the door. 

It was another lovely day in the town of Strawberry. A thin blanket of snow adorned the tops of the buildings, the water-mill was running slowly along with the melodic waters of the brook running below. People were up and about, greeting one another with accented 'good mornin's' and chipper smiles. Business was going as usual: the butcher at his stall, swatting away the flies. Deputies milling about, scanning for any opportunity to grab their commissions for the day. Children darting in and out of the shadows, giggling with their little red noses and starry eyes. She almost smiled. 

They slowly made their way towards the general store, having to stop every few minutes so she could catch her breath. The winter morning's air doing quite the number on her achy lungs. But she pushed forward. 

Upon entering the store, Thea flinched at the sight of the man behind the counter. It was the same one she became cross at the day she decided to go after Dorothy Elwood. She remembered regretting her words, but couldn't downplay the fact that she yelled at a man for wanting better for his family in terms of safety. He was helping another customer for the moment, but once his gaze landed on her, it was as if he had to take her in for a moment. His eyes traveled over her body and landed where the bandage was peeking out from her shirt. Thea was expecting him to throw her out in the next minute, but when he smiled it took her by complete surprise. 

"Welcome! I remember you, you're the bounty hunter I met a few days ago." 

She stuttered, "Um..-yes." 

"I wanted to thank you for taking care of that... _situation_ with that woman. Me n' my kids feel much safer now that she's gone." He glanced at a photograph sitting atop the counter before looking back at her. "Please—anything you get today is on the house." 

"That's very... kind of you." Words came out slower than she wanted them to, probably because her mind was still processing what the hell he just said. 

The doctor, familiar with the situation, escorted her to the fresh goods with a grateful nod towards the clerk who was now tending to another matter. He was casually noting which foods paired with which drinks the best, but all Thea could think about was how she didn't deserve any of it. She kept glancing back at the man behind the counter as his words replayed in her ears. Safe. He felt safe. They felt safe—thanks to her. All thanks to her. She wondered if he would feel differently had he known the truth about what happened, how she blatantly let a wanted person go and still reaped the benefits of it without much thought thereafter. The same damning words she sneered to the Sheriff about not working for his pennies now rang in her head like a blaring whistle. A hypocrite is what she was, a pure fucking hypocrite. 

She wanted to leave—to get as far away from this town as she possibly could. It didn't matter that she came into contact with the people she was chasing here, they certainly were doing a better job than she was in terms of luck. 

"How does that sound?" 

"Huh- what?" Thea didn't realize she was digging her nails into her skin. 

"I asked if you wanted to grab a loaf of bread and cheese while I go get some salted meat from the butcher." The doctor muttered. 

She breathed, "oh..- alright. I can do that." 

He smiled, "Good! Very good. Also," he pointed to a small rack of clothes fashionably placed in a corner, "wouldn't hurt to grab yourself something new, hmm? I mean, it is on the house." 

Thea turned to look at the clothes, noting how they were mostly ranged in muted colors with few variations from one another. Based on what she could tell, they were clearly men's. But it had been days since she'd seen her horse or her things and the striped shirt she was wearing was beginning to smell of rubbing alcohol mixed with sweat. "That sounds wonderful." 

The doctor nodded then made his way out, leaving her by herself for the first time in three days. She felt like a toddler again, taken aback with the sudden lack of supervision. It almost made her want to run rampant with none of the worries tied to her shoulders. A quiet laugh escaped her as she ran her fingers over the fruits, wondering what sort of havoc she could wreak if she just knocked them all over right now. She made her way to the golden-crusted loaves and plucked one from the bunch, hands relishing the warmth coming off of it. Her eyes traveled over to where the blocks of cheese were neatly placed together, quickly landing on the famously yellow american cheddar profoundly preceding the others as though it knew it was going to fly off the shelves first. She grabbed one of the thinner ones and propped them on the counter, giving a sheepish smile to the man who gladly began to wrap them for her. 

She now went towards the clothes, biting her lip in uncertainty, it was like trying to pick out a bay in a line of chestnuts. Earth tones with barely any design adorned with high collars and black suspenders. Typical. She sighed and eventually managed to get a hold of an olive-green shirt with white cuffs paired with the suspenders for a radically bold statement of: plain. 

"This too, if you don't mind." Thea gingerly handed the shirt to the clerk who nodded and flipped open a box to place it in. 

"So," He started, "do you really think she was eaten by wolves? Or was there somethin' else that the Sheriff left out? Cause all he said was that her bones were found next to her dress and the ring was in some wolf dung. God, I hope she rots in hell for what she's done." 

That short minute of her mind focusing on something else rather than her failures was snapped away from her as soon as those words registered. Anxiety began to shake at her knees and found a neat place to settle down in on her chest, causing her to take short and quick breaths that her bruised lungs weren't capable of handling. She had to grip the counter to keep herself steady as she forced herself to look up into his eyes and answer as best she could. 

"I-" 

"Ah! It looks like we're done here, Thea. Come now, let's get back, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know!" 

Sweet relief washed over her as she was ushered away from the clerk and shouted a wavering, 'thank you' as they made their way out the door. 

A cool gust of wind rattled her body as soon as they stepped out back into daylight, entering through her nostrils and hitting her chest with its chilled clutch. It was getting hard to breathe and even harder to move. "I can't-" She started but was immediately cut off with a fit of short coughs. 

"You can. Let's keep moving." He said, gently tugging at her arm and pointing towards his building. 

Busting out the little energy she had left, Thea pushed her way through the road and onto the steps of the office, heaving through the pain. In that moment, she remembered days where she would traverse hours in the simmering heat of the desert or the glacial temperatures of the tundras, never once faltering on staying keen on her prospects. The memory burned in her mind worse than the aching of her ribs as she stumbled through the door and landed on her bed, trembling.

The doctor was at her side in an instant, injecting a quick shot of morphine into her shoulder and waited until it took effect, the medicine lulling both mind and body into a peaceful trance as she relaxed into the blankets. "Thank you." she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself. 

Sweat shone on his forehead and his grey hair fell over his glasses as he took them off to wipe with some fabric, "Don't. It was a mistake letting you go outside. I fear I've caused more harm than good in terms of your healing." 

She shook her head, feeling that now-familiar artificial warmth sweeping over, "I enjoyed it. I think some fresh air was better for me than staying inside."

A lie. 

He looked at her, regret making itself known in his sigh. "Alright, alright. You just rest now—we'll eat in a bit." Footsteps retreated out of the room.

Although the morphine dulled her body's response to pain, it certainly didn't touch the torment going on within her thoughts. She felt like she was now a fraction of what she used to be. The lone bounty hunter who made quick work of her targets no matter the time of day, the woman who earned her weight in gold and money five times over within the span of a month, the one who the people in Blackwater heard promising tales of, who wanted her to complete this one, simple, task of capturing a member of the Van Der Linde gang and bringing them to justice: reduced to nothing. And within a fortnight of accepting the job she ended up here, shriveled into a husk of the person she once was. It's as though all the deities in the skies had this vendetta against her and this job, pushing forth every obstacle they could possibly think of to throw her into this whirling storm of self-hatred and doubt. None of the stories she heard could've prepared her for this, for this type of hurt. She was supposed to be led to her fate the way all the heroes were, with courageous battles and escapades of bravery. Not this, not being tossed around like a rag-doll with no regard for her life. Not letting the people she was chasing find her inebriated and injured and express _kindness_ and save her. She didn't feel like she was in control, apparently not even her own thoughts. She had never been afflicted like this, with dueling forces on both ends of the same spectrum vying for her morality as though it were tug-o'-war. Now she lay here, high off morphine, belongings taken, barely able to hold a breath in, constantly being reminded of how much she sucked at this job. She wanted to express it—all that hurt—feeling the beginnings of a sob igniting in her throat, but her body didn't let it take wing.

So she just laid there, staring at the ceiling. Numb. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating again soon.


	10. The Purifying Aroma of Mint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're finally there, folks!

Dena threw her head back and reared on her hind legs, neighing while Arthur held his grip on the reins, trying to keep his balance. He felt the horse's muscles move beneath his thighs, tightening then relaxing as she settled back onto the ground again. 

"That's good! Although you have to work on your posture a bit." Charles smiled, biting into an apple. "A horse that tall n' that strong can send you flying if you don't keep yourself steady." He stepped forward and let Dena munch on the rest, "I don't think she's like that though." 

"Pftt- sure." Arthur snorted, "Swear every time we go out and she sees a group of wild horses it's like I'm not even riding her—she just bolts. Takes me a whole bag of treats and sweet talkin' to rein her back in." 

Charles smoothed out her hair with his palm, "Can't blame her for that now, Arthur. It's in her nature to be free." 

The cowboy nodded slowly, "Yeah...- I know." 

"But I can tell that she likes you, even more thank you think." 

He raised his brow, "Really now? And just how do you know all these things? About horses, I mean." 

Charles took a moment to look out to the mountains behind them, breathing softly into the crisp morning air. "When I lived with my mother's tribe—the first thing a boy learns is how to take care of a horse. Everything from cleaning, riding, feeding, and even how to care for them when they're sick. The natives considered their horses as companions rather than weapons for war. Then when the army came-"

Arthur could see how much the memory pained him. He was aware of his story, how his mother was taken by soldiers, never to be seen again. How he and his father ran and his father turned into an alcoholic, prompting Charles to leave and live the life of an outcast up until he joined up with the gang a little over six months ago. His reserved, yet adept nature is what made him so admirable in Arthur's eyes. He was someone who faced hell and was still able to walk out with a level head and a keen sense of justice like no man had ever seen. 

"they took some of the horses—I guess the ones they thought they could use—but killed most of them, including a white pony that the chief gifted to me to help me learn how to ride." A shadow of a smile played on his lips, but quickly faded as he continued, "many men died that day, and many women were taken, along with my mother." 

Songbirds flitted between the trees, praising the rising sun with their sweet melodies. Bright red cardinals were engaged with one another in a sort of dance, jumping from one branch to the other, playfully chasing each other with jovial cheeps. A sign of spring. 

He looked back down to see Charles looking at them as well, a few minutes of silence transpiring before he started once more, "but people mourned for their horses too, having burial rituals for them and singing songs of their bravery. I guess those teachings stuck with me cause here I am trying to bestow them onto you." He turned back to look at Arthur. 

Dena reached her muzzle out to gently nibble at Charles' ear, causing the man to slightly brighten. Arthur regretting asking him such a question to bring back such hurtful memories, but at the same time grateful that he was able to learn more about his past, such was the intricacies of wanting to get to know someone better. "I'm sorry." He said.

They were in a clearing just a few minutes away from camp, encircled by towering trees and the ever-so-imperial mountains looming behind them. Arthur had asked Charles to help him out with some of the troubles he's been having in terms of getting Dena more domesticated, so the pair awoke at the crack of dawn and had been here ever since. In that amount of time, he learned how to control her when she got riled up, when to give her treats and when not to, and even what exercises to roll through to keep her strong and healthy. Despite being around horses for most of his life, Arthur had never known how to _properly_ care for them until Charles showed him how. It was eye-opening, considering how much he thought he knew about the animals. But he was appreciative to the man for taking the time out to show him, even more so now that he realized the unfortunate stories tied behind his wisdom. 

Charles shook his head, "It's fine. I've enjoyed this, Arthur. Being here, away from all the stress, finally teaching you a thing or two." 

He smiled, "What do you mean, a thing or two?" 

"You would've had no idea how to use a bow and arrow if it weren't for me taking you hunting back in Colter. Just admit it, you're now a better hunter and a better rider 'cause of me." 

Arthur leaned forward on his saddle, "Oh I'll admit it, when you admit you're only doin' this cause of her." He patted Dena's neck, who huffed. 

"Oh definitely. She's a better student than you are." 

They shared a bout of laughter, and Arthur watched how Charles' mood seemed to light up in the midst of what happened earlier, it was a nice transition. "We should head back before the rest of em' wake up." He extended his hand to the other man. 

"No—that's alright. I can walk." 

"C'mon, don't be stupid, hop on." 

"You're insufferable." 

Charles took his hand and jumped up, settling behind him as he clicked the black mare forward, narrowing his eyes as beams of sunlight came across them. They left the clearing and began to make their way back to Horseshoe Overlook, with Arthur keeping the horse's gait at a slow walk, wanting to enjoy the tranquility. Another pair of cardinals dashed across his vision, causing him to follow their zigzag movements with his gaze, wanting to stay in this little clearing for as long as he could, watching nature disperse around him. He'll just have to sketch them later in his journal to preserve their image as best he could. That's what he would resort to, on occasion. Spotting something worth taking a moment to draw down but he would never get the chance to, so he would later on close his eyes and try to remember what he saw, then transferring the forms in his mind onto pencil-renditions on paper. 

Eventually, camp showed up from behind the bushes as he hitched up his horse next to the other ones, both he and Charles slid off in unison. 

"Thank you." Arthur tipped his hat, "I think some of the others 'round here could use your help too, but that's just me." 

Charles patted his shoulder, "Not just you, but I'll see you around." 

He waved his goodbye, then secured Dena's reins to the post as he caught glimpse of Boaz turning to greet her with his muzzle. It looked like the two had become well acquainted with one another, her demeanor relaxing instantly. Arthur patted her once more then made his way into camp, passing by Javier who was sitting on a table, guitar in lap, strumming a somber tune. 

It had been almost a week ever since he incident in Strawberry happened, and after _that_ talk with Dutch, tensions were high. Of course, everyone else was happy about the gold they brought in, throwing around compliments on their work, perfectly unaware of what went down that night. Abigail, Mary-Beth, Karen, Tilly, Grimshaw and even a reluctant Mrs.Adler were milling about the bag, picking out pieces of jewelry they suited fit for themselves. Each of them came out with either a necklace or a ring, giddy to try it on. And he remembered stopping Karen, who had nabbed the brown stoned necklace he examined back in the cellar, politely asking to keep that one for himself. She, of course, began to question him on who exactly it was for, jeering and taunting until he asked her again not-so-politely. Eventually, he got back the necklace and with the help of Mr. Strauss, the camp's suddenly new scholar on jewels, identified it as a Tiger's Eye gemstone, which he thought was hilarious, considering the circumstances behind it. He kept it in a little drawer next to his cot, unsure on whether or not to sell it, but something within him kept telling him to keep it close. So for the moment it remained there, a silent reminder. 

Arthur was making his way to his tent when suddenly Javier called from where he was sitting, "Hey. Can I talk to you?" 

He whirled around to look at the musician, a little more than shocked at his sudden intrusion. They hadn't spoken much, only passing a 'hello' here and there, and Javier even let Arthur cut him when they were in line for stew. But other than that, they kept to themselves for the time being, which he was perfectly fine with. Although both the injury to his knee as well as his ego faded, the memory along with the initial anger he felt towards him stayed. His insincerity at the situation, hiding the woman's identity from them—from Dutch—all of it didn't settle in the dust like he hoped it would, causing all the distance. But if he felt the need to speak with him, it had to be serious.

"Okay...- what's goin' on?" Arthur rested his hands on his belt buckle, feeling like the tension between them could be cut through with a knife. 

Javier stood and put his guitar down, shaking his head, "Not here. Walk with me to the wagons?" 

His eyes landed on Dutch who had just emerged from his tent, watching them with an intense look, cigar famously in hand. He was just about to turn to leave with Javier when the man motioned him over, "Arthur. Son. Will you come here a moment? There's something I need to go over with you." 

A pang of uncertainty hit him as he was caught between the two, obviously not wanting to disappoint both but in the context of the situation, Dutch would have to wait. He had been unnecessarily cruel towards Javier in the past few days, who was clearly exercising something they were all taught, but for some reason Arthur had forgotten what that was the night of the house robbery. He turned to look at Dutch, "uh, give me a minute, okay? I'll be right back." 

He didn't linger long enough to see the man's furrowed brow, but definitely heard the irritated sigh as he made his way towards the outskirts of camp.

Javier was leaning against one of the wagons, cigarette in hand while looking out to the horizon. He pulled out another one from his pocket and signaled to him with his eyes if he wanted one, Arthur obliged and let the other man light it for him with a match. These ones were rather nice, they possessed a sort of refined aftertaste to them that his own didn't have. It was pleasant and light, compared to bitter and heavy. "So," He started, "what is it?" 

"Well... ever since that talk we had with Dutch I've been thinking. Let me start off with an apology, Arthur." He tipped his hat at him, "I'm truly sorry for all the distress I caused you that night. Hope you and your knee recovered." 

"Now you're gettin' somewhere." Arthur chuckled, "here I thought we've moved past it, with all your kindness at the stew line." 

"Pinche- damn, you're not one for sarcasm." Javier shot back. 

"Will you get to the point." He stated, deadpan. He took a deep drag and let it sit in his lungs before blowing it out, eyes narrowing. 

Javier stared at him before breaking his gaze and huffed at his cigarette. "Okay. Look, the girl we encountered that night-" 

"Oh, you mean that same girl you compromised the job for, took to the doctor, paid forty dollars outta yer pocket, won't tell us who the hell she is 'cause you're afraid to, and are _still_ mentioning a whole week later—that girl?" 

Thick silence passed between them, furthering them apart. It looked like Javier was taking a moment to himself to really acknowledge what was just said, smoothing out his pitiful mustache with two fingers. He took a breath before talking once more. "I know you're mad, and I know what I did was wrong in your eyes, but something's come up and I need you to help me out." 

"I swear to God-" 

"We need to ride out to Strawberry, Arthur. I have to see her again. I have to know something." 

His temper skyrocketed. So much so that he threw the lit cigarette to the ground so hard that it singed the grass instantly, smoke rising in a thin streak towards the sky. He stomped forward until he was face-to-face with Javier. A low, graveled voice came out of him, barley more than a whisper. "Don't you dare think I'm puttin' my head on the line for your ass ever again. You need to forget about her, or there's gonna be trouble." 

It angered him even more at how nonchalant the man was. He smiled up at him and even had the audacity to point a finger, "What trouble, pendejo? Huh? Is that a threat?" 

"It's a warning. We've only been here two goddamn weeks and you're already puttin' all our necks on the line for this. Stop thinkin' with your prick and focus on what we already got goin' on." 

A laugh resounded from deep within his chest, "You're stupider than I thought, Arthur Morgan. Goes to show why Dutch favors you so much—all that brawn and none of the brains." 

"And why the hell do you even need me? This so damn important to you just go off on your own, no one's gonna stop you." 

"Because I have reason to believe she's after us, okay!?" 

There was a break in their heated conversation as soon as Javier shouted those words, chirping birds adding to the tense atmosphere as Arthur tried to process what was going on. He turned his head slightly to see if anyone was listening, and much to his disappointment, people were. Almost everyone's eyes were on them, peering through their tents and staring past their tin cups, gazes fixated right where they were standing. So much for speaking discreetly. 

He grabbed Javier by the shoulder and shoved him even further out past the wagons, now directly on top of the cliff's edge. "Keep your goddamn voice down. Just what the hell are you talking about? After us?" 

The smaller man looked flustered, like he blurted something out that he clearly shouldn't have. His hand ran across his mouth as he kept muttering, _shit_ over and over. 

Arthur sighed. He was getting too goddamn tired of this. "Will you say something?" 

A sudden, terrified look passed over Javier's expression as his gaze moved past him, breath hitching in his throat. It was like he'd seen one of those creatures he kept telling late night stories of. 

He turned to follow it, eyes immediately landing on the man standing behind him. 

"What's going on, boys? You sound bothered by something, Javier. Care to get it off your chest?" Dutch took a puff of his cigar, walking closer towards them. 

"N-not at all. I'm okay, so's he, right Arthur?" He muttered, nudging him into nodding out a 'yes'. 

"Good. That's good. Wouldn't want something involving the safety of the gang to go unspoken of, correct?" 

Javier began to go pale, hands shuffling with his clothes, "Of course not, Dutch." 

"So why don't you enlighten me on why you're planning to go back to see that woman in Strawberry." 

Something clicked in Arthur's mind as he ran over the memories of that night. Everything seemed to transpire under a very specific guise that he hadn't considered until now. The way she was dressed, how she knew how to handle a blade—he touched the scar beneath his chin, tracing it back and forth—her knowledge of what was in the cellar, and even how she acted as if she was the murderer, cunning and manipulative. Only a certain kind of people possessed these traits; outlaws and...

"She's a bounty hunter, isn't she?" He looked at Javier, fists tightening. 

Dutch let out a dark chuckle, "Well, things just got so much more interesting. And here I thought you had fallen for another poor barmaid."

Arthur felt like he was about to blow up with fury. "You knew she was a bounty hunter and you still went and did all them things? _A goddamn bounty hunter!_ " 

He lunged at him, grabbing his jacket collar, teetering over the edge of the cliff. Javier fought him back, landing a swift punch to his gut. They wrestled until they hit the ground, eventually prompting Dutch to step in and separate them. "Enough! I will not have you acting like children. Get up, both of you." 

Winded, Arthur rose to his feet, glaring daggers at the other man who smoothed out his clothes like a preening swan, picking out little tufts of grass off his jacket. Dutch had one hand on both their shoulders, standing in between them like a disappointed father apprehending his unruly sons. 

"Why don't you hit a little harder next time, puto. I dare you." Javier seethed, wrenching his shoulder out of Dutch's grip to get back in his face, " And yeah—I knew. I knew long before what happened in Blackwater." 

"Stop." The older man pushed him backwards, "none of this helps our situation, son. Tell me, you think she's after us?" 

Javier took a minute to catch his breath. He looked absolutely dejected, defeat pronounced in his eyes. "I hope not, but..- maybe. It's why I want to go back and talk to her." 

"And you think she's just gonna tell you, like it's nothing?" Arthur spat, "you fool." 

"Yeah, actually, I do." He said. 

"No." Dutch stated, scratching his chin, "I have a better idea." 

He turned back, furrowing his brow, "What do you mean?" 

"Well, we oughta know our adversaries, right? Keep your friends close," Dutch outstretched his arms to take them back under his wing, "and your enemies closer. You boys are gonna go get 'er for me. See if we can get some information outta her." 

"What? No! You can't-.. _fuck_." Javier pushed himself out of the man's reach, shock overtaking his features. "Don't do this." 

It was like watching an injured rabbit plead for its life, even though it was perfectly aware of its fate. His eyes went all big and round, searching for that fraction of your soul to find an ounce of humanity within so you would not deliver that final, twisted blow. It was pathetic, so much so that it made all Arthur's preconceived notions about him to be thrown out the window. 

Dutch took a drag out of his cigar, "I know it's bothersome, but this is for the benefit of us, of our lives. We don't know how many different kinds of monsters are chasin' us, which is why we need to scale things out. It needs to be done." 

"At least! At least—let me go alone. I'll bring her here by myself. Don't make me go with your stupid guard dog, please." Javier faltered. 

The older man shook his head, "I think you know why I can't do that, my boy. I applaud you more than anyone else here on your romantic endeavors, but this just became a very serious matter. I just can't trust you to go by yourself." 

Arthur stared at him, wondering just what exactly was plaguing him in the moment. He had never seen him act out like this, always following commands and orders as though it were second nature. Had it been shooting down O'Driscolls or a big bank robbery he'd be all for it, even singing songs the night before of their promised victories. But this, he didn't know what the hell this was. Either way, if Dutch wants a job done, he'd better pull himself together. "I don't see why not. C'mon, Javier. Let's go get your girl." He taunted, smirking. 

He looked like he was fighting wars against himself, biting his lip in anxiousness and pacing nervously. He came to a sudden halt in front of both of them, index finger pointing at Dutch. "If I do this, promise me you'll let her go afterwards. Promise no harm will come to her."

A snide smile came across his lips, "Of course, son. Have I ever led you to believe any different?" 

* * *

Thea lay outstretched on the bed, practicing her breathing exercises with her eyes closed, trying to retain as much focus as she could. In, and out. In... and out. Strengthen the lungs, hold the air for as long as you can. If there's burning, stop and try again. It was a repeated process that was now ingrained in her mind like clockwork. Practicing constantly, whenever she could: after every meal, every few hours, in the morning and evening. It was the only way to help her recover faster, and boy was she set on doing so. It had been a couple days after that unfortunate situation occurred, but her newfound desire to actually get better only came after she got back down from the morphine, swearing that she would try to do right by herself. Her whole agenda had shifted; regrouping the entirety of her job into singular objectives that she had to complete, and so far, she was intent on getting the first one checked off: Make contact. Consciously—of course. It didn't count that she had already come across two of them 'cause she was inebriated and blacked out. But the next time around, there surely won't be any mistaking in getting things done. It was a mere stroke of luck she survived that night, but pure fate that she didn't die during all those grueling days spent racked with fever and doubled over in agony. If she wanted to remember anything from her past, it was that her people believed in things like this. How one's destiny has already been unraveled, just waiting to transpire at the right moment, either making or breaking entire lives. Hers was to be a hunter, knocking people out like dead branches off a tree, and earning in the process. So here she was, sitting right on the edge of the cliff that she was to plunge into, letting cosmic intervention take its hold. 

She took a deep breath and held it in her lungs, relaxing her body and feeling the way the oxygen filled the caverns within. She did her best to fight against the blossoming burning sensation, shutting her eyes tighter and making fists on the sheets. It let itself become known, showing its defiance through the stinging walls of her chest. She was so used to this though, suffering through hours of tightened breaths and searing pain. But she had to get better, she had to recover, she had to do her job. It was flaring now, clearly indignant at her previous provocations, climbing up her throat as she fought against it even harder, daring it to jump out through her mouth. All the bullets she's taken, all the storms she weathered, and all the terrifying men she encountered, nothing compared to not having the ability to normally breathe. 

It got to the point where her body physically took over and forced her to release the air, causing her to gasp out and flutter her eyelids open. Her chest burned still, but eventually subsided as she rose to her feet and looked out into the evening sky.

The sun was just beginning to set over the ridge, a splash of darkened yellow following suit. It was a quiet point in time, people beginning to retire into their homes and call out their goodbyes to each other, the promise of tomorrow lingering on their lips like it was guaranteed. She sighed against the windowpane, watching how the coldness of the glass enveloped the heat of her breath, killing it off in a matter of seconds. Winter still had it's vice-like grip on Strawberry, even though the clear skies and warming sunlight played a trick on everyone, its silent movements only becoming known to the keenest of eyes: little icicles hanging off buildings, thin sheets of snow forming on the roofs, the tips of noses going red against the singeing chill. 

The sudden sound of the door swinging open caused her to turn herself away from the window and jump right back into her cot, covering herself with blankets and pretending to be asleep; deepening her breaths. 

"I saw you standing by the window, you can't fool me by now." The doctor's squeaky British voice broke out in a little fit of laughter as she opened her eyes to see him pulling off his scarf and coat, revealing his thin, lanky frame. 

Thea sat back up on her cot and smiled, wrapping her arms around her knees, watching him move about the office like it were trained in his brain. He went over to his desk to first check for any messages, then went to the sink and washed his hands for a full minute, going by the speed of his watch, which she knew for sure that it was slow. After, he went and donned his infamous white coat, smoothing it out with precise gestures that made it look like it were made of silk. Then he grabbed his stethoscope, slung it over his neck, and came over to her bed to listen to her heartbeat and breathing. 

The coldness of it sent a little zap down her spine as he placed it directly on top of her heart, using both eyes and ears to mentally note the beats with his wristwatch. She had never met another person so hellbent on accuracy, so perfectly in tune with all the numbers and symbols that she could only wish to understand. It was striking and overwhelming to witness, wondering how in the world he was ever able to rest. 

He then moved it to her back, telling her to take deep breaths, just like she practiced. He stayed there for a moment afterwards, muttering to himself about the color of the bruises on her rib cage. The bandage she was wearing was taken off yesterday, and when he showed her what the injury looked like she gasped at the multitude of colors: red, yellow, and even splotches of green all painted her back like a messy canvas. It was only when he informed her that all those colors meant good things, and that they were a sign of recovery, when she calmed down. Now, she was able to pick up 'nice, light purple' and 'healing' from the jumble of medical jargon.

Grabbing the chair beside her cot, he pulled it forward and took a seat, pulling out a little brown bottle she was all too familiar with. He popped open the plug and took out the dropper, placing a few into her open hands. She rubbed them together then moved them down to her chest, massaging all the way up to her chin then back down and around to her rib cage. Extracted, purified, mint. The smell opened up her airways like nothing she'd ever seen, letting air become tinged with it's sweet aroma before traveling into her nostrils and down her bronchial tubes. It worked absolute wonders. 

"So, how am I doing?" Thea asked, settling back down into the bed as he retreated and began to scribble in his notebook. Another part of his agenda. 

"Better. I think..- I believe, you're much better than you were when you first came in." He looked up at her, lenses glinting in the setting sun. 

"Better...," she mused, "Enough for me to get going?" 

He nodded slowly, "Yes. There's nothing I can give you now to speed up the process, it's just time and care." 

A warm feeling bloomed in her chest as she felt herself beam with happiness at the thought of finally being able to leave. It was like a massive weight had been lifted, pulling forth opportunities that she never felt were possible a week ago. She got back onto her feet, the flimsy blue gown falling down to her knees. "Then I suppose, this is goodbye?" 

That feeling was immediately replaced by sadness as he looked back up with her, reciprocating the emotion. This wasn't easy, for either of them. Those nights where she was teetering on the edge of life or death, he was at her side, steadily keeping track of her temperature and her heartbeat while still holding her hand through it all. Those days where she kept him company with all her stupid questions about his profession, providing a distraction for them both apart from just being in each other's presence. At least, that's what she liked to think. She had dreamed of the day she was going to walk out of here ten times over, but when the moment finally arrived, nothing could've prepared her for that twinge of anguish hitting her like a tidal wave. 

"This is goodbye." The doctor repeated, outstretching a hand. 

Tears pricked at her eyes no matter how hard she fought them. Going through an experience this was definitely traumatic, and if she didn't have him here... well, there was no telling as to whether she would've survived at all. He was healing, personified. Her feet propelled her forward into his arms in a rough embrace, ruining his perfectly smoothed out coat with her fingers gripping it's edges, burying her head into his shoulder, "thank you." 

A hand came to rest on her hair, "it was a pleasure being your doctor. Take it easy for me, will you?" He pulled her to face him, "I don't wan't to have to see you here again." 

She nodded, blinking through tears that already broke through, no longer holding them back. It was hard to speak without sobbing, so she remained quiet. 

"Good. I've got to be somewhere in a few minutes, leave the door unlocked when you go, alright?" He gave her one more pat on the head before moving towards the entrance, putting on his coat and hat—then with a final smile—left. 

Thea stood there, listening to his retreating footsteps meld with the noises of the town. She was finally free, free from this place and all the misery it brought her, so why was it so hard to leave? 

After a few moments of looking around, she forced herself to change into the olive green shirt she purchased along with the black jeans and suspenders, careful not to tighten them too much. Things began to feel normal again the moment she wriggled out of that old nightgown, letting it fall to her ankles, like a shedding viper. Her bruises still ached with movement and she felt the blood rush to her head, but this was an act of renewal—of restoration. 

Now, all that was left to do was resume her life. And with a breath, she too, departed. 

\---

Stepping out into the sunset sky, Thea looked around, taking everything in. Windows were lit with their respective candles, little flames danced with one another while cool gusts of wind greeted her, wrapping themselves around her frame, springing forth a smile. Men, women and children were securely hidden behind closed doors and sturdy walls, kept apart from the misfortunes that nighttime brings. Each darkening cloud looming over, their weighted shadows hovering like bad omens over the heads of people who were least fit to deserve them. She had forgotten the way they held themselves so high above the ground, yet so close behind your shoulder that you could almost feel it breathing on your neck. Being indoors served its purpose in fogging up her premonitions, but now that she was back in the open, everything came rushing back. Keep your head down, move fast, don't make steady eye contact, get the money, then go. She pulled out the crumpled note from her pocket, running it between her fingers. If only he left some sort of clue, something eluding to his location, which would ultimately lead to the rest of the gang's hideout... No, that would be too easy, and from what she remembered, he was a rather complicated man. 

A horse whinnied in the distance and she suddenly remembered her massive white beast who was still locked away in the stables, probably traded off by some idiot stable-hand. She began to make her way towards the outskirts of the town, careful not to grab too much attention by sticking to the off roads. 

The minute the light from the sky faded into darkness, a tingling sensation made itself known along the back of her neck and her entire body tensed up. Something didn't feel right: it was as though she was being watched. Whether it was from afar or nearby, she couldn't tell, all that she was aware of now was that she mustn't dare turn around. Goosebumps formed all across her arms and chest, spiking her anxiety as she kept pushing forward, mentally acknowledging each and every detail she could about her surroundings to keep herself calm. She just had to get to her horse, that was it. Get to Miguel, then get the fuck outta Strawberry. 

It didn't matter which way she weaved and turned, that harrowing feeling still lingered behind her like a stalking predator. Fear ignited in her throat, tempting to make her scream. Her body was begging her to use her legs and what was recovered of her lungs to just book it. But she didn't, she just kept moving forward, until she saw the building and the white stallion's head poking out one of the stalls. 

"Hey! Oh my god, I missed you." She whispered, reaching out to wrap her arms around his muzzle and delivered the biggest kiss on his nose. She unlatched the stall, careful not to alert anyone nearby, tightened his tack, then mounted. She could still detect eyes on her, but now that she had transportation, her breathing eased a little. "Let's get out of here." 

Urging the horse forward into a quick trot, the only way she knew she leave town was the same way she got in, through that big wooden gate posted ahead. Everything in her mind alerted her to the fact that it was not a good idea, to find another trail that led out, but she still drove the reins in that direction, eyes darting to every nook and cranny they could, hoping nothing would pounce out at her.

They passed the bridge, the water eerily silent, harking to her its warning. The general store and the sheriff's passed by rather quickly and so did her notions of it, wanting to forget her experiences there as rapidly as she could. 

The moon came into view now, a thin sliver shining in between scorched clouds. The feeling did not go away. 

Finally, she was nearing the gate. Miguel's pace beginning to falter as he started to snort, ears flaring backwards. Thea patted his neck, shushing softly, encouraging him go to forward. Her eyes drifted towards the doctor's office, the little wooden building standing out in stark contrast with all the others in her perspective. She traveled down its old pillars and cracked planks, until her gaze landed on the door swung open, swaying from the intensity of the hands who pushed it. A little grey and white horse was hitched up right next to the entrance, looking at her with beady eyes. It caused her to halt her horse and stare blankly at it, mouth slightly ajar. 

Her thoughts raced to figure out why that image struck her so. Why was his pattern so familiar? Why could she hear a lively guitar in the back of her mind? 

_Is that...?_

Something flew past her head and landed squarely right below her shoulders, tightening immediately. The wind was knocked out of her as she looked down only to realize that she had been roped, and not a moment later was yanked off her saddle, landing on the ground with a hard thump. Her injuries screamed out but she couldn't, shock overtaking her senses. Thea struggled to break free, rolling and kicking to get away from the assailant. Loud footsteps approached and two heavy hands gripped at her feet, hogtying them together. She wanted to shriek, to cry, to do something. God she was so stupid, how could she be so stupid? Her vocal chords began to choke out the beginnings of a screech but was instantly silenced when fabric was shoved into her mouth and tied behind her head, gagging her. Those same hands came up to effortlessly lift her off the ground, standing her onto her feet as she whipped around wildly, black hair falling out of its hold. When she was finally able to focus on who it was, she felt herself go stiff.

It was him—the man from the cellar—the one who did this to her. 

He was smirking, blue-green gaze twinkling in the moonlight. "It's nice to see you again, Tiger Eyes. Remember me?" 

Before she could even express her shock, a hard object hit the back of her skull, and darkness ensued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading all your comments, it really makes it all worth it. Thank you.


	11. Seeing Red

A quick, calibrated hit to her shoulder sent her reeling backwards, slamming against one of the wooden sparring soldiers. She dared not to cry out, biting down on her cheek with a suppressed groan. Strands of hair fell over her eyes as sweat trickled down her forehead. 

_"Again! Your stance is weak and your defense was not there. I know I've taught you better than that. This is blatant disrespect to me, Amalthea."_

The voice resonated within the walls of the fighting arena, traveling all around the room with a haunting echo. Spectators had gathered around to witness her ultimate failure, their subdued whispers carrying over to her ears. She felt the oaken chips beneath her feet, poking and prodding at the bare skin, breaking off splinters into the sole. Anger climbed its way up her throat as she pushed herself off the dummy, ripening at the base of her tongue. With a guttural roar, she launched herself once more, training sword extended to deal the first blow. 

Upon meeting, the deafening crack of wood striking wood pulsated through the environment like thunder. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it was going to leap out of her chest, but even then she would get jeered at for not having the strength to hold it in. Black dots swam across her vision as she greeted every rising attack with a quick dodge and retaliated jab, feeding her growing sense of pride every time she successfully countered. 

Concentrate. Fight it. Don't let anything hit you. Use elbows, knees, fists. Use your eyes—dominate your opponent—keep staring until they break. Good. Watch for punches aimed for the face. Good. Dodge, counter, hit. Again. Keep- 

She felt the ground go out from beneath her as she was flipped onto her back, knocking out all the wind from her lungs. This time, she cried out. 

_"Hah! Your mentality is that of a soldier. This is not a battlefield, and that is not how I trained you. Stop trying to be something you are not. Go again. Get up! "_

The kicked up dust had found its way into her chest, bringing forth a fit of rattling coughs. Her muscles ached with exhaustion and her mind was swarming with taunting voices of her defeat. Tears welled up in her eyes as she managed to roll onto her knees, body desperately trying to get rid of its molecular assailant. 

_"Get. Up. I won't say it again."_

"I can't!" she screeched, vocal chords absolutely torn up. "I'm done—find someone else." 

Silence took over the arena as the spectators filed out, grumbling their disappointments with disapproving waves in her direction. This was the first time she's ever been defiant in terms of her teachings, "You think of me as some prodigy, meant to thrive in all your subjects. Who am I not to please if you say the Gods, commoners, and even outsiders are to be proud of me?" another cough shook her frame as she managed to get back up on her feet, "There are others who are better suited than me that can bring you all the glory you desire." 

_"You think this is about glory? That I'm doing this for myself, to bring my own pride beneath your wings? Foolish, sad child."_

"Then what for?! There is no reason to take in an orphan other than to boost your own ego." She felt a tear cut down through her dust-stained face. "I am in pain, constantly. Everything hurts. You make me read, write, recite, then make me swim, ride, and fight, all in the same day!" Her legs faltered beneath her as she steadied herself against a wall, trying to recapture her breaths. "Please... I'm just so tired." 

Speaking those words hurt. They were more defining than any praise she had ever been given. People would walk by with astonished gazes while she would be practicing her archery on horseback, noting how extraordinary her marksmanship is, gazes drawn to the one who taught her, commending patience and natural talent for instruction. It was beneath her to be jealous, but she couldn't help that little twisting feeling knowing all the hard work she's put in, only to be ultimately considered the product. It fell atop her shoulders constantly, a reminder that all she would ever be was the prodigy. 

A hand came up to her shoulder and gently coerced her to sit down, then took the wooden sword out of her hand and tossed it away. It retreated only to return with a pouch of water, bringing it up to her lips. _"Drink."_

She grabbed the bag and scrunched it so hard her nails marked the leather, relishing how it cascaded down her throat, cooling the burning sensation in her lungs. She drank until it was completely empty, then licked her lips with a satisfied smile. 

_"You're right, Ama. I now realize I have been too hard on you. A thirteen year old child has no business being as overworked as you, I see that now. But more than anything, I wish to see you prosper. I took you in because of how much promise I saw in you, I would hate to see it squandered."_

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, placing back all the strands that fell forward. "I know..."

_"You have come a long way, but still have so much more left to learn. I'm here to help you become who you're destined to be, not bring you down. Even though you act like you know everything."_

"Hey!" she chuckled, "I do not." 

_"Oh, you absolutely do. Makes me wonder if you're a descendant of Ares himself."_

"I am not! Ares is my least favorite, I hate him." 

A laugh. She hadn't heard it for a long time. It was cavernous—full of a type of sorrow she couldn't understand. It was little moments like this after a great deal of hard work where she truly could cherish having a breather. Relaxing on the sun-kissed beaches or walking through a field filled with soft stalks of lavender just couldn't compare to the serenity she felt right now. 

_"Ah, Amalthea. Don't go slandering the Gods now, you never know which one you're going to end up praying to."_

* * *

The night sky seemed to roll on endlessly overhead, the moon obscuring itself from view, as though it could not bear witness to the act of heinousness unfolding below. Even the stars had dimmed their scintillating glitter, darkening the environment in such a way that it felt like the universe was drawing away in despondency. Neither fauna nor flora made itself known, bodies of water fell reticent, and the breeze kept itself hidden. Trails that were colored with vagrant strangers showed blank, dirt paths. Herds of nickering wild horses that grazed at the ponds were nowhere to be seen. The enormous trees above who whispered excitedly with each other went quiet. It was unnerving to be this near wildlife only to sense none of its vitality. There was no way of telling whether the atmosphere was holding its breath or whether it had ceased existence entirely. 

They pushed on through the scenery, the only telling sound of their momentum being the huffing beasts beneath, hooves beating against the ground in a familiar melody. Arthur kept his head down, watching how his horse's black mane rose and fell with each of her movements, floating one second then flattening the next in a wave-like motion. Half of his thoughts kept telling him to turn around and check to see if she was still breathing, but the other half reminded him that he didn't care, so he faced forward. As long as she was alive enough to answer questions, the rest of it didn't particularly matter. 

The shallows of the Dakota river came into view, but even in the normally creature-infested banks there was not an animate breath being taken. Just daunting, weighted silence.

He figured that whatever deity above caused all this environmental stillness to try to get him to reflect on his actions. To try and reason with himself that what he was doing was for the benefit of others, even though it meant that someone else's life could potentially be taken. But this is how he always lived, isn't it? To take from the evil and give to the good, that's all it was, all its ever been. Yet something didn't sit right with him in this particular situation, especially in terms of the motives behind it all. Men who signed their death warrants were still walking around—free—letting people like her do their dirty work for them while they sat smoking their pipes on their pot bellies. These people who they fought so hard to get away from, who threatened their very existence with a simple flick of their wrists. How come Dutch didn't send for them? What purpose did he see in this walking disaster of a bounty hunter? 

It wasn't his place to question, nor to even think about questioning. He urged Dena to go faster with a click of his tongue. They waded through the water and he was grateful for the break in sound. 

"Hey! Careful-.. you're getting her hair wet." A hiss came from behind. 

Arthur shrugged, "Don't care. Not my fault it ain't tied." 

They stared at each other, blatant indifference clashing with indignant annoyance. The beginnings of a laugh started in his chest as he noted the worry in the other man's eyes, how stupid he looked. He was just about to let it out when Javier took a sudden sharp gasp, pointing at the woman's hanging head off the haunches of his horse. "Arthur, stop. She's bleeding." 

He whipped around on his saddle to look at her limp form, straining his vision, "What're you-" 

"Right there! On the back of her skull..- _¡puta mierda!_ "

Oh. There it was, glistening dark crimson against the dim moonlight. It had stained the collar of her shirt and was still trickling down the back of her neck. "Shit." He sucked his teeth, fully aware of how injuries like this went down. It would only be a matter of hours before- 

"We-.. we have to take her back. That doctor, he's... he's good. He'll take care of her..." It was as if he was trying to reason with himself, to somehow justify his actions of abducting a human being. 

Arthur turned to look at him, shaking his head, "No. You know we can't do that. We'll be seen as her killers-" 

_"She's going to fucking die if we don't!"_ Javier shouted, and as if on queue, everything came back to life. Sounds from all around erupted in his mind. The river began to thrash against the rocks again, trees shook in the blowing wind, animals cried out in the darkness, the moon and stars came back into view, illuminating everything once more. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat as his eyes landed back on the woman's form, watching her chest lightly rise and fall. 

"Okay. We're gonna set up camp over there," He angled his chin towards the sandy banks, "see if I remember anything from Swanson n' head injuries." As dumb as that plan sounded, it was the only one that they could somewhat agree on. The moment they reached it the men slid off their horses and immediately got to work with setting up what they could with what little time they had. Arthur gathered pieces of driftwood hidden in the sand for the fire, piling them on one another and throwing a match at them at lightning speed while Javier put up his tent from his saddlebag, draping the cloth across the poles and steadying it against the grains beneath with strained grunts. The moment it was set up he immediately ran over and untied her from Dena's rump, whispering something incoherent in her ear as he settled her on the cot, worry painted all across his features. 

Arthur made sure the fire was strong enough before walking into the tent, shrugging his corduroy coat off and rolling up his sleeves. From what he knew, a hard blow to the back of the head meant instant death, but here she was, life making itself known with every ragged breath she took. Her eyelids fluttered in her slumber, body obviously aware of the injury, but fighting to wake her up. He had to work fast. Shit. A pang of regret shot in his chest as he watched her face, but he quickly pushed it down and reached over to pull her hair away, trying his best to ignore Javier's fretful sighs as he paced inside the tent. "Will you shut up. I'm trying to help your girl out here." 

"Maybe if you hadn't knocked her out so hard we wouldn't be here, would we, pendejo? You're about as good a doctor as I am a white man. Fuck. I swear to God I'm going to kill you if she doesn't make it." As much as the man tried not to sound scared by replacing it with anger, the sheer terror was so painstakingly obvious that it wavered behind every word. 

He shushed, beginning to part her black hair away from the forming pool of blood, careful not to press down too hard. She just looked so fragile, laying here, all swaddled up like a baby in Javier's poncho. Had it not been for the events back in Strawberry, he might've believed what his eyes were telling him. But she was a bounty hunter and a stone cold murderer, who also happened to be chasing them down for the law. In a different situation, he would've let nature take it's course and she would pass peacefully in her sleep, but now people's expectations piled up on his shoulders like bricks, and if he failed... 

Arthur tried not to think about it. He just kept gently pushing strands of her hair away, afraid that he was going to see brain matter at any moment. He finally got to the base of her skull, taking a breath before ultimately finding out this woman's fate with a quick swipe of the fingers. 

Just as he was about to lean in with a wad of cloth to wipe away the blood for a closer look—his face mere inches away from hers—a swift hand came up and latched onto his windpipe, rendering him stiff.

He looked down to see a pair of brown eyes staring back up at him, wide and filled with fury, like a cornered animal. 

Time felt like it was being stretched into multitudes of itself as he gazed at her, hand still clutching the back of her head while hers was steady on his throat, both daring the other to make the next move. It was like they were caught in some kind of trance, and a dangerous one at that. 

"I'm trying to..." He felt the words within vibrate against her fingers, "don't-" 

A hard shove to his side toppled him over as Javier took his place, releasing her grip as he landed on his side, trying to catching his breath. It was almost like she had used the little energy she had left to push out a final fight, her arm falling limp in the air. 

He was holding her hand, voice strained, "are you okay? Tell me, where does it hurt? Please—talk to me." There was a beat of silence as he searched her face, "oh..-oh no. No. Open your eyes. Thea. Wake up. _Wake up_." 

Arthur got back up to his feet as Javier took a few steps back from the cot, one hand over his mouth—reduced to a fraction of himself. It almost hurt to look at him like this, that quick-witted suave personality had fluttered and turned into... whatever this was. It was pitiful, if anything. Reaching back over and pressing two fingers on her wrist, he closed his eyes to focus. He was almost afraid to, thinking that she would get back up in an instant and rip out his jugular with a carnivorous swipe. But for the sake of Dutch, whatever his needs be, and for the trembling man behind him, he began to rub circles on the skin of her wrist, trying to feel around for that little beat, that singular defining symptom of life. Seconds went by—they felt so much longer though—where he thought she was truly gone. He would've felt it by now, it would've made itself known. From what he's witnessed, she was a fighter, and a merciless one too, why wasn't she fighting now? Dread began to inch it's way up his chest, but he didn't know where it rooted. Was it fear of failure, of this whole operation becoming pointless, of Dutch's disappointed look? Or was it fear of this woman losing her life when he once saw her struggle so hard to keep it? He didn't know. 

"She's alive." He called out, furrowing his brow and pressing a little harder to confirm, nodding once it pulsed, weaker this time. "But barely." 

Still focused on counting the time between each beat, he didn't realize Javier had stepped out of the tent, by the moment he did and went outside, he was already mounted on Boaz, knuckles white against the reins. "I'm going to bring that doctor here. He'll help once he realizes it's her, or..- I'll fucking drag him here hogtied." 

The sheer determination paired with the tension in his eyes flickered against the firelight, and Arthur realized no matter how much he hated the idea of bringing a stranger into all this was too risky for them, he saw that the other man was too far gone to even think twice. With a curt nod, Javier pounded his spurs against the horse and raced off into the darkness, dust clouds following suit. 

Now here he stood, biting down on his lip as he stared out into the shimmering waters, jealous of their serenity. Storms clashed against each other within, two forces that had their own equally convincing arguments battling it out in the corners of his mind. Fear had already set in despite his best efforts to keep it away, expanding each passing minute. He was afraid to turn around and face the music, the consequences of his actions that ultimately led him to this situation. But to be fair, it was mostly Javier's fault. He was just the messenger, right? Right. The deliverer—of Dutch's wishes, of the gang's, and occasionally even his own. 

Yet if it were up to him, he would've left her to rot in that cellar. Hell, it would be a waste of a bullet to put her out of her misery right here. 

But for whatever reason, she needed to be saved, from a fate that would ultimately be her demise anyways. It was pointless. 

Heaving out a sigh, Arthur turned and made his way back into the tent to re-check her pulse. 

* * *

_"You seem distracted by something, child. Is something wrong?"_

They were sitting on the beach again, under the shade of the laurel tree. She rolled an olive between her fingers, feeling the way the skin slightly punctured under her touch. Leviathan clouds passed above with the ocean birds swooping beside them, calling out into the waters below. Popping the fruit into her mouth, she winced at the sudden bitterness flooding her tongue, remembering how much better salted ones tasted than ones plucked straight from their branches. "No," she mumbled out, tearing the flesh away from the stone with her teeth. 

_"You're not very good at fooling me, you must be aware of that by now."_

She rolled her eyes, "I'm not." 

A group of boys ran by, faces perfectly scorched by the Mediterranean sunlight. Their joyful giggles resounded in her ears as she watched them leave, a familiar ache taking its place within her chest. She spit the stone out onto the sand then buried her head in her arms, trying to suppress a sob. 

Moments of silence ticked by before a soft sigh was breathed out, _"You long for friendship."_

Thea shook her head, "I do not. Something's in my eye, that's all." 

_"Alright, I believe you. Would you like to hear another story, then? I don't think you've heard of this one before."_

For once, she actually felt grateful for the shift in subject. A smile played on her lips—pushing her feet deeper into the warming sand, wiggling her toes against the grains as she watched the lapping shores. "I don't want another sad story like the one you told me before. Something happy this time, please?" 

_"Ah, I see. Happy... hmm- I've got it. You're going to like this one."_

Excitement trickled its way in without warning, and she found herself grinning a little wider. "Tell me." 

_"It's the age old tale of the tender goddess, Amalthea. Her care and love for the most powerful of Gods, do you know who that is?"_

"Zeus?" She inched closer, beginning to turn away from the horizon. 

_"Exactly. It was her who made him what he is today. She fiercely protected the son of the titans Rhea and Cronus, but that's a story for another time. Perhaps when you're a little older, and tired of happy endings."_

Thea shook her head. 

_"Anyways, it was her who nursed him and raised him far from the eyes of his father, pouring forth all her efforts to help him grow. Zeus put up a constellation in her honor, you know. She is a symbol for caregivers and parents all around, for even though the God wasn't her offspring, she still loved him regardless. The day that I found you—trying to steal bread from the baker to give to the other children at the orphanage—I asked you your name. Believe me when I say I wasn't surprised one bit when you whispered out 'Amalthea' underneath all that black hair of yours."_

Her hand came up to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, "So...- that's the story of my name. You told me that this was happy." 

_"It is, child. Don't you see? Greed runs rampant through Greece without so much as an afterthought, but there you were, in all your little glory, being the tender goddess you were named after. I'm never going to mention this again: but, that day you taught me something that I considered lost in myself. I found you just as much as you found me."_

The sunset had painted the sky with lazy strokes of pink against the darkening azure, their obvious contrast somehow melding with one another in a perfect balance. She outstretched her hand to stroke one of the fallen, dead leaves beside her, tracing the patterns of where life one was. It trailed off into so many different directions that she didn't know which path to follow, gazing at the faint multitudes of lines, her mind not allowing her to think of such complexities. 

_"I hope, for as long as you live, that you never forget what it's like to be compassionate and loving. Life has too much sadness in it for another soul like yours to be squandered away. Amalthea—don't forget now. Your name is Amalthea, the one who cared for Zeus so fiercely he could grasp lightning."_

She lifted the laurel leaf and crunched it with her palm, watching as a breeze carried it off her hand and towards the sea behind her. 

"I won't forget." 

\---

Pounding. Something was hammering so hard against the back of her skull that it felt like it was going to split open at any second. Her throat felt dry and cracked, blocking off any chance for her to cry out. She now could recognize that it was pain, re-entering a second time into her, this time so much more stronger than before. Nothing could describe how immobile she felt, how purely agonizing it was to even try and open her eyelids. Shadows darted across her vision, springing forth innate fear. Chills ran up and down her spine and sweat gathered all across her skin, both heating and cooling. It almost felt like a fever, but that dreary daze didn't come over her—the only thought her mind could produce was: _run._

A familiar, squeaky voice murmured something above her head, running a damp towel across her eyes. She didn't know whether it was the wet feeling or her inclination to respond, but she eventually pulled her lids open.Things took a moment to adjust, blurry shapes and colors eventually melding into three, distinct faces, gazes boring into her. 

For whatever reason her mind didn't register human features, they all looked like strange creatures with glinting fangs and bloodshot eyes. Panic overtook her suddenly and her shallow breathing deepened, ribs and skull still pounding religiously, causing her to break out a pained whimper. 

The towel was wiped over her forehead once more, and this time the familiar voice broke out again, but it was softer, caring. "-didn't I tell you I didn't want to see you again? Not like this?" 

In the split second those thick lenses glinted against the light she was able to see his face, his weathered, exhausted face that held so much wisdom yet harbored just as much affliction. She began to relax. Everything was fine, she was in the doctor's office, still getting treated for her ribs. Maybe she was just experiencing one of those blackout headaches and he was tending to her, she would be fine in a few minutes, once the medication sets in. Things were perfectly normal, she's still after the Van Der Linde gang—trying to make contact. The night in the cellar went pretty badly but at least she had a lead in a town called Valentine, she would head out there as soon as she felt better. That's all it was, just recover and be on your way. Then she'll find them and capture one of their members, ship them off to the sheriffs office and leave this misery-ridden place with more money than she could ever count. Everything was going to be fine, she still has time. 

"A-are you..- going to help these patients?" She weakly angled her chin towards the two non-distinct faces sitting opposite of her cot, "do I still have to practice my breathing, like... you told me?" 

Silence passed on for longer than she'd liked. He was looking down at her with his mouth slightly ajar, clearly taken aback by something. Her mind still in jumbles, she kept feeling the throbbing pain in the back of her head. With an aching hand she reached backwards and brought it back to her eyes to see her fingers coated in wet, dark crimson. "I'm bleeding..." Her gaze shifted to her surroundings. A campfire crackled outside, fighting against the blustering gusts of wind. A distinct flapping sound drew her attention, and she noticed that she was in cowhide tent, nothing like the sturdy wooden walls of where she thought she was. A hard sigh emanated next to her, and she looked to see the two patients standing side by side, only they weren't patients at all, were they? One of them, the smaller, more colorful one, kept his eyes trained on her, running his hand down thin slits of hair lining his top lip, tension apparent all over his body. The other beside him, much larger and bulkier, kept shifting his stance and flicking his gaze between her and the fire outside—irritated. The moment he turned back to look at her and saw that she was looking at him, too, he darkly murmured to his partner then drifted outside. 

"Where am I?" Her hand was still in the air and the blood was beginning to trickle down her fingertips. 

The doctor brought the towel up and cleaned them, "You're-" 

"Okay? Right? You're okay?" He was at her side now, the one remaining in the tent. Mahogany eyes tainted with exhaustion, but still full of hope. He took her hand into his, stroking his thumb against her palm. Something was fighting so hard in her thoughts to try and figure out why the hell he looked so damn familiar. But she didn't need to delve much further, he answered for himself. "It's me, Javier. You remember?" 

Images flooded into her mind as his features gave way to his identity. Javier. Bar music, sweating bodies, bitter beer, a blue coat. His perfumed words and dainty promises rang clearer than ever. More recent memories also sprang forth: a dark cellar, glittering gemstones, the sound of a blade slicing into skin, hard shoves, injured ribs. Drunk. Blackout. Lies. A crumpled note—anger, fear, sadness. Him. 

"Ah, _tu recuerdas_. See, now we're alright. Aren't we, doctor?" He turned to look at the thin man who was cleaning his fogged lenses. He angrily got to his feet and walked over to her, taking out a wad of cotton from his pocket and placing it on the back of her head, "Alright?" he seethed, "you're lucky the skull didn't shatter, otherwise she'd have been dead. I can't believe this. Dare I say it's a goddamn miracle. Come along-" he began to lift her by the shoulders, "I'm taking you straight back to my office." 

A gun clicked as she lifted her eyes to see the larger man pointing it right at the doctor's chest, face shadowed over. He was standing right at the entrance of the tent, blocking them from moving forward. "Your job's done here, partner. Time for you to get goin'." 

"Excuse me? I don't think you realize the situation we're in. She needs to be taken back and cared for—given medication and warm clothes. She'll get worse if you don't let us leave." 

He shook his head, "Don't think so. Drop her and get moving. Or else." 

The doctor was indignant, he refused, fury boiling in his squeaky tone. "You proper fools! Abducting a young woman for your own twisted desires. I won't have it, none of it. Don't mistake for one second I won't have the Sheriff hang you both-" 

Two shots rang out, and as if in slow-motion, she saw them whizzing past her face and puncturing through his clothes. Pools of red began to show through as his grip on her shoulders weakened. She couldn't scream, couldn't cry, couldn't say anything. It was just pure shock. The thick _thump_ of his body hitting the floor sent shock-waves all across her skin, she bent over to reach out and grab his collar, grab something she could hoist him up with, anything. Her lungs screamed with agony but there was a brick sitting in the bottom of her throat. She watched with stinging tears as the life leaked out of him with a terminal, sputtering breath. 

He was dead. Last moments spent trying to save her pathetic, foolish self. 

A shrill ringing enveloped the atmosphere, quieting every formidable sound. She was trembling, it got cold. The warm imprint of his fingers against her shoulders drained away no matter how hard she fought to keep it there. The memories of him sitting beside her the nights where it was undecided on whether she would live or not, gently patting her hair as she weathered through surges of fevers and rolling bouts of pain. Where he would put his work aside just to have a pleasant conversation with her in order to alleviate her boredom. All these things just piling atop each other made her resentment grow deeper. 

Now he was dead. Because of her. Fucking hell. 

Javier had jumped to his feet and was shouting at the other man, but everything was muffled to her in this moment. She just kept staring at his lifeless form, biting her lip so hard that it bled. The scent of mint flooded her senses, he must've been carrying it on him when he- 

None of it mattered now. He was dead. 

Thea was out-manned and outgunned, outmaneuvered and outpaced. No matter how substantial her rage grew, it would be reduced to nothing if she chose to fight them. All it would take would be another hit to the back of the head and she'd be gone, just like the poor man below. No. It had to matter. If she was to attack, it couldn't be now. Let the doctor's life be avenged, and even though she currently wasn't in the best shape to carry it out, god save the person who tried to stop her when the time was right. Like a viper staking out beneath a flower, she reduced herself to a little, weak woman. 

"I'm sorry." 

* * *

Arthur watched the man fall to the ground, the soft sand lining out the shape of his body. From where he shot, directly at the heart, the severed arteries kept pouring out their precious innards, staining the white of his shirt. A choke emanated from his throat in his final moments. He jolted once, then stilled. Gone. 

He tore his gaze from the body towards her, watching how she gathered herself in her arms like it was all she knew how to do to comfort herself. Burying her head in her shoulders, she started to rock back and forth, shoulders trembling as sobs shook her frame. He curled his lip, holstering the gun. 

"Are you out of your fucking mind?! Why did you shoot?! Huh, Arthur?! _¡_ _Cabron!_ " Javier had gotten in his face, hands waving around in the air. 

He growled and shoved him aside, pushing his way out of the tent. The man followed, still shouting foreign insults. The river had turned turbulent against the midnight wind, crashing against the stiff boulders in its anger. Silhouettes of flapping wings outlined against the moon, he guessed that it was him who had disturbed them. He breathed out a chilled sigh into the air, watching it float upwards and vanish. "I shot him to save us. From being hanged, from being thrown in jail. But you don't think about that stuff, hm?" He looked down at the fire, which was miraculously still going strong despite the environment's best efforts to vanquish it. "Worried 'bout the wrong things, partner." 

Javier made a weird sound in his throat that was a mix between a groan and a shout, like he was struggling to get words out. "Wh..-what? No he fucking wouldn't! He was a doctor. A doctor! If we just-.. if you didn't-" 

Arthur whipped around to face him, scowling, "No. You're just too blind to see. It was in his words. We been on the run for how long, Javier? Long enough to think that not everybody wants the goddamn best for you. We've been outlaws for longer." 

The woman's cry reached through to his ears, it sounded like she was shattered. 

"Better go bury the body." He muttered, pushing past the smaller man and back into the flaps of the cowhide tent. He didn't bother to make eye contact, but from what his peripheral told him she was still sitting there, weeping. Grabbing the corpse by it's legs, he dragged it out, noticing the trail of blood following his every move. There was a sudden smell that entered his nostrils, causing him to gag slightly. Was that... mint? The hell? It was so strong that it overshadowed the newly formed scent of death. 

She must've heard him cause she stopped her sniffling and fell completely silent. Arthur suppressed the rising urge to wretch in his throat and kept pulling until he reached the campfire. Javier was holding a skewer of venison over the flames, twirling it ever-so-slightly as it sizzled, "I'll watch over her and make sure she eats." He said, brows furrowed. 

He rolled his eyes and tossed the body over his shoulder, scanning the dark horizon for a place inconspicuous enough to stash it. It took him a moment, but soon enough he found a dip in the earth a little ways off where they were situated. Good enough. 

The wind bit at his body and the cold chilled his cheeks as he trudged over, the pungent smell so strong that if he were to take a deep breath he would pass out. It was so goddamn... abnormal. He's known the aroma of mint before, galloping past meadows trickled with them, but nothing like this—so overwhelmingly pungent. Come to think of it, when he was gathering the girl up on his horse, she smelled like it too. Her head was rolling back and forth and he steadied it, accidentally coming a little too close and inhaling the scent of her hair. As repulsive as she was, she didn't smell too bad. 

Reaching the dip, he stomped down with his foot first to test the depths. The sand shuddered under his strength and it sounded hollow: enough to store a body. Tossing it to the ground, Arthur got to work with his hands. 

Crouching, he gathered as much sand as he could into his arms, lifting then throwing it over the side with minor grunts. Another bone-chilling breeze rattled him, wishing he didn't leave his coat as a blanket for Javier's little princess. 

After what felt like half an hour, he finally dug out a trench deep enough to satisfy him. Dust coated his shirt and sand was trapped in his dirty blonde locks, but nonetheless, he got it done. He took a moment to rest, leaning back on his knees. Looking over at the doctor's graying corpse—those blank eyes staring leagues into his skin. A shudder crept it's way up his spine, but he fought hard with himself to agree that it was from the wind. It was only a few hours ago that this man arrived on the back of Boaz, clearly unaware of who they were or why they were there, only focused on tending to her. He rushed to her side in an instant, taking Arthur's place in checking her pulse, silently counting along with his watch. In the midst of Javier's stress-ridden pacing and his own unfocused attempts to calm him down, the doctor was actually getting things done in terms of stopping the bleeding and managing to find the source. There may or may not have been a breath of relief when he was told that she wasn't going to die from head trauma, yet regardless of that, the tension between them ignited the moment the man decided to question their identities and what business they had with an injured woman out in the middle of nowhere. Then from there... things just went wrong. 

He had to take his life. It was how he knew to deal with things that angered him. If he hadn't threatened getting the law down on them then maybe he wouldn't have shot him. Plain and simple. The moment he determined that she wasn't going to die: he had sealed his fate. 

Looking at dead bodies made him feel like he was watching the rapture of death. It didn't matter what sort of horror-stricken expressions they had on their faces when they died, it was the pure stillness that looked so harmonious and tranquil. It helped him cope with his actions, if anything. Wherever this doctor's soul drifted off to, he hoped that he was at peace. 

With a nod, Arthur got to his feet and rolled it in the trench, then kicked in the piles of sand around it. It was either an ending or a beginning, the silence that transpired around him told him it was anything but an ending, unfortunately. That this man was the beginning of so many more like him, dead at the hands of someone too afraid to deal with threats that consumed their entire existence. God—if it weren't for Dutch and his stupid wishes for this girl—this poor fool would've still been alive. 

Turning to head back towards the tent, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Clapping his hands free of sand and dust, Arthur noticed a white figure outlined against the dark shadows of the forest. A neigh carried over the air into his ears as he squinted to get a better look, marking at how massive the beast was.

Now it was walking towards him, moonlight bouncing off its skin as thought it were already full of it. It looked absolutely exquisite, royally craned neck angled in such a way that he felt like he should get down on one knee and bow. A regular horse, this wasn't. Snowy locks billowing in the breeze, rising and falling in its own motions as it's black-tipped muzzle pointed at him, huffing hot breaths through its nostrils. He was standing absolutely still, afraid that if he were to take a step forward or backwards, it would dart out of his vision like a fleeting dream. 

As it got closer, he could see that it donned a saddle and reins. This thing actually belonged to somebody? It must've been lost. The might this animal carried in its every step, it was magnificent. The horse towered over him, breathing down his hair, scattering bits of sand from his scalp. Arthur extended out a hand, shushing softly. "now who do we have here? You looking for someone, boah?" 

It snorted as he ran his eyes over its tack, noticing the rope tethered to the saddlebag and the multiple holsters loaded with glinting iron guns. This was no ordinary beast, with no ordinary rider. Facts clicked together in his mind as he scratched its chin, "You're hers, ain'tcha?" 

Responding with a shrill whinny, Arthur gathered its reins and began to lead it along back towards the tent. "Well, let's get you back then. Careful though, she might kill me for touchin' ya." 

Javier was still sitting beside the fire when he returned, tying up her horse beside their own. Boaz immediately began to groom him, like they were familiar friends. Dena kept her ears back and was wary, but eventually warmed up with a gentle puff of her nostrils. One could never guess the events that transpired only a few hours ago, with all the tranquility in the air. They just looked like two cowboys resting up for the night beside the river, nothing more to it. As soon as dawn broke, they would head out without so much a complaint. "You okay?" He queried, but instantly regretted asking when he saw the look of resentment plastered on the other man's face. 

"No, I'm not. None of this is okay. What we're doing, here, isn't right. And you know it, too." 

Arthur sighed, "I 'spose not. Kind of missing when we was up in them mountains shootin' O'Driscolls. Come to think of it I'd rather be doin' that right now than," He waved his hand around the scene, "whatever this is." 

The outlaw chuckled, nodding, "Yeah... that does sound nice." 

They shared that moment, briefly forgetting all the ill-fated events and just reminiscing, watching the crackling flames. 

He was pulled back to reality faster than he'd wanted at the sound of a twig snapping. Turning in its direction, his vision passed over the tent's opening, landing on her tying up her hair. She had unbuttoned her green shirt a little and was attempting to get the blood off her neck with the damp towel, he fought with himself not to let his eyes wander too long before forcing them away. 

Javier must've seen that transient distraction cause he was looking right at him the moment he turned back, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. "You can talk to her, you know. I don't think she's gonna bite." 

Arthur scowled, "No." 

"Then it must piss you off to find out she's using your coat as a blanket." 

He whipped back around to look inside the tent, causing a short spurt of laughter from the other man. There it was, his corduroy coat, draped over the lower half of her body. Groaning internally, he began glaring daggers in her direction. 

"Sorry, brother. I got cold and took my poncho back, luckily yours was hanging right there to take its place." 

"Never liked that thing anyway. Good riddance." He huffed, shivering against another cold blast of wind. 

A thud sounded beside him as he saw his coat flying through the air and landing inches away from the fire, turning back to see the woman standing at the entrance, face slick with tears and shirt dotted with blood. Her eyes reflected the flames, glowing with unspoken rage. "Keep it. I'd rather freeze to death." She hissed, hands balled into fists. 

Arthur rose to his feet as anger overtook his senses. The audacity this girl had—it scorched through him like embers on paper. He stalked forward until he was towering over her, similar to that night in the cellar, only this time she didn't have a knife to his neck, and he wasn't afraid of her.The smell of mint washed over him as they stared each other down, gazes equally matched in intensity. "You gotta lot of nerve for a captive." He whispered. 

"And you, for a dead man." She bit back. 

He had to laugh, "Oh c'mon now. It's a little too late to be making jokes." 

Javier's attempts to try and get them to separate went unnoticed, so he just leaned back and observed, sighing in annoyance. 

She drew closer, "Count your days, _outlaw._ " That word clearly was a harbinger of egregious standing, the way she spat it out. 

"What's your name, little girl?" Arthur motioned to the scabbed gash on her neck, then ran a finger across his own. Her eyes followed and her skin suddenly flushed, pink filling up her cheeks. "Unless, you want me to keep calling you that." 

"Like what you say affects me." She scoffed, ponytail swaying behind her shoulders. 

He smirked, "That so? Then maybe I should ask him." Turning to look at Javier, who looked weirdly nervous—for some reason. "You two know each other, clearly. I'm sure he wouldn't mind telling me." 

Her gaze followed and suddenly it was like her guard was thrown. She kept flicking her eyes back and forth between them, looking more flustered by the minute. 

Arthur nodded at the other man, "Say, Javier, mind telling me your sweetheart's name? I think she-" 

"It's Daphne! My name's Daphne. There. Happy?" She sputtered, drawing his attention back towards her. A weird sound came from the other side of the campfire, obviously coming from the other man. Whether it was shock, confusion, or just plain astonishment it didn't settle right with him. Hell, maybe it was some other woman he'd acquainted himself with over the years. What a strange name, too. It didn't suit any of her features, nor any of her mannerisms either. There had to be something he was missing, something that they shared but didn't want anyone to witness. It pecked at him like a sore tooth. 

"Daphne," He mused, taking her in, "Well, Miss Daphne, let me tell you something: If you step outta line, _one more time_ , you're gonna meet the receiving end of this here fist." He lifted his hand to help him enunciate his message, "I won't repeat myself." 

Her nostrils flared and she crossed her arms, opening her mouth as if to speak, but ultimately fell quiet. Good. This girl needed to realize that he wasn't playing around, regardless of what Casanova over there was telling her. He was here for one reason and one reason only: for Dutch. Everything else was thrown out the window. She turned on her heel and walked back in the tent, closing the flaps tight in his face. 

Javier was staring at him as he slumped back on the sand, putting his coat back on. It smelled like her, unfortunately. "Good job, amigo. You really, uh..- made your point." 

Arthur shot him a pointed look, "Sorry I'm not like you, tryin' to talk the pants offa every woman you meet." 

A yawn rattled his body as he fought to keep his eyes open, the dancing flames coaxing him into a lulled state of mind. 

"You should sleep, I'll keep watch." The other man handed him a sleeping bag, which was basically just two quilts stacked atop each other. 

He shook his head, "No. Don't trust you. You sleep." Words fumbled out of his mouth as another yawn took hold. 

Javier snorted, "Suit yourself. Goodnight, Arthur." He opened the bag and tucked himself in, facing away from the campfire. 

He sat there, surveying the environment to keep his mind awake. Noting each time the waters splashed against the rocks, slowly weathering chunks of them away down its current. The horses had fallen asleep too, heads bowed as they leaned against each other. It was crazy to think that in the midst of all this calm, there was calamities that brought it forth. Everything, from the homestead robbery to the argument with Dutch, finding out she's a bounty hunter, then back to Strawberry, capturing her, knocking her out, traveling through the forest, having to stop because of her injury, rushing to get the doctor, eventually shooting the doctor, burying him, finding her horse, learning her name...

Hell. These past few days have been filled with more rambunctiousness than the events leading up to Blackwater. It almost scared him to think just what was going to go down once they arrived back at Horseshoe Overlook. Was she going to get tortured? Killed? No... Dutch wouldn't allow that. Would he? 

It didn't matter, cause he didn't care. All that was on his mind at the moment was getting back to camp, back to normal. This little escapade had come to an end. 

Arthur breathed against his collar, sleep tugging at him like a gentle hand coaxing him to fall flat on his back and knock out. But he couldn't, not for hours. Yet he knew this fight well, it would only be a matter of minutes before that too would drift away. He tipped his head and began to count the stars, eyes bleary, arms aching. 

He just kept telling himself that he'll be able to rest once this was all over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imagine not simping for Javier Escuella. The audacity.


	12. Scorned Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta keep up with that explicit rating ...

_Horseshoe Overlook_

They were pressed up against the side of the tent, panting against each others necks with fervent need. Him, hoisting her up by the thighs, squeezing invariable patterns, indenting her skin. Rolling into her at the rhythm only she liked—a slow, recurrent process. Her, wrapped around him, branding all along his collarbone and shoulder, making her pleasure incessantly known—moaning at every touch, jerk and thrust. 

_"Oh, Dutch..!"_

He ran a hand up to clutch at the sea of red curls, pulling to expose the area right behind her jaw. It drew him in like a hound, disregarding of her restrictions and diving in, gathering the skin with his teeth, feeding his hunger and lengthening his desire. Rough grunts rattled from within his throat as he sped up, rocking faster, out of proportions. This is how he wanted it: to be in control, worshiped instead of commanded. Hatred bloomed whereas love no longer stemmed, taking hold of his movements and turning them into an act of self-satisfaction—rather than the giver she wanted him to be. He bit down harder, relishing the way her flesh swelled and seeped blood onto his lips. 

Her nails dug into his back as she cried out, fighting to regain dominance. It would prove to be useless, he was too far gone. 

In a fit of searing rage he let go of her legs and whipped her around, slamming her onto the billowing ox-hide, sending shivers up the walls. Re-entering with a heavy groan, he brought himself behind her ear, feeling the way she shuddered underneath his power. "Shhh." 

Molly whimpered as he nipped at her lobe, skimming over the finely cut crystal earring with his tongue, the ones he bought her when they first met. He'd be a good fifty dollars richer right now if he hadn't. Oh, what a waste. In an expertly practiced maneuver, he loosened the jewelry enough for it to slip off and into his mouth. A colder gemstone there wasn't, the way it seemed to thaw heat as he rolled it over his teeth, thinking how it would feel if he shattered it against his cheek. It would be drastically more pleasant than this, and would deliver the euphoria he had been searching so desperately for. 

He was growing impatient, and even more angry. Spitting the earring out, he brought a ringed hand to her lips, silencing her moans of protest. The other trailed down her freckled skin, reaching the crux of her sex. Molly snapped her spine against him and mewled as he pressed a finger inwards, matching the movement of his hips—yearning to tear her apart. This wasn't what either of them wanted, it wasn't encompassed in compassion and tenderness like before. It turned to vile misfortune, a game of two players with no ultimate triumphant. All there was now was the dutiful satiation of innate desires. She just happened to be here to fulfill it. 

"Oh-ohh..- I'm s-" She stammered, cut off by a cry as he dipped deeper into her, prompting her release. Molly shook against him, voice reaching heights he didn't know was possible. Her body rode it out for as long as it could, halting him as she chased her high, then finally coming down with a satisfied sigh. 

But not him, hm? He couldn't feel what just washed over her, he couldn't even count on finishing—at least not the way he wanted to. Turns out there was a winner, and she had already slipped away, stepping into her emerald dress and brushing her hair out of his ministrations. 

The strife within him doubled down like bricks on feathers, itching to pull her back and show her what it truly means to be used. And yet, he couldn't, not because he would feel bad afterwards, but because he's been through this before: the exact thought process, the same tipping anger that tugged at him. It would start with fluttering lashes and lingering touches, lead to wet kisses and free formed promises of 'this time will be different'. Each and every time would end just like this, a shameful, degrading image of him gathering himself back into his clothes, embarrassment replacing pleasure, hatred turning more prominent. 

Zipping up, Dutch pulled out a cigar from the nightstand and was about to light it when a shrill gasp came from across the tent. "Where did my earring go? Did it fall off?" 

He ignored her, taking in the earthy smoke with a deep breath. In a matter of minutes, it would help him forget the unfortunate events that took place and focus his mind on something else other than the needy throbbing between his legs. 

"Hey," She motioned her hand at him, "Did you see where my earring went? I don't see it anywhere." 

Sick to his stomach at her indifference, he pushed his way out of the tent, "not my problem, Miss O'Shea." 

"Of course it's not yer problem, Dutch van der Linde, it never fuckin' is." She hissed, causing him to spin on his heel and face her, halfway outside. "I beg your pardon?" 

Molly threw her hands in the air, "What's the matter with you? Do you see what you've done to my neck?" She pulled her hair away to show the plum-red indentations of his teeth contrasted against the paleness of her skin. He didn't linger his gaze too long, huffing in annoyance. To think out of all the issues they're currently dealing with, a missing earring and a hickey were her biggest mishaps. 

"I've got things to take care of, Miss O'Shea. Stop wasting my time with your trivial nuisances." Dutch shot her a final sideways look before retreating back out, pushing the tent flaps closed and her newly introduced, heavily accented ramblings away from his hearing. Another negative quality to toss in the bag of reasons why he'd much rather consume his time smoking a cigar than having to give what little he had with her than was needed. And even now, his needs were diminishing. 

Spilling out another bothered sigh, he walked over to lean on one of the trees surrounding the camp. It was barely dawn, the wind just beginning to stir the environment to wake. Little by little, sunlight filtered through the clouds and painted the sky a muted blue. He dragged at his cigar, the thoughts that accompanied each new day rising in his mind. They speared at him constantly, driving deeper each time he thought he could postpone them. Questions that nobody seemed to know the answer to, but expected him to. It comes with the title, he supposed. If only they knew that he didn't have a goddamned clue. But what then, should they lose faith in their leader? It'd be better if they were all hanged at the gallows than disbanded to die on their own like mangy coyotes. 

And atop all this, he couldn't comprehend how Molly didn't understand the position he was in. It was as if she didn't stand witness to all the trouble they went through: Blackwater, the grueling mountains, Colter, deaths of Jenny and Davey. Colm. The innocent girl he killed—the image of his bullet ricocheting out of her skull still haunted him at night. It popped up every time he would look at Abigail or Tilly or Mary-Beth, wondering how he would act if it was any of them instead of her. He knew the others saw him differently because of it too, the way they tiptoed around the subject, like they would face his wrath should they dare even mention it. While everyone else was running around, people like Colm, and bounty hunters, were ready to leap out of the bushes with their fangs bared. He hated feeling bested, it wasn't in his nature to be beaten. 

Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed the familiar footsteps slowly walking up behind him, and the sound of a metal spoon clacking around a tin can made him turn to see who it was. 

"I think this is the first time I've caught you outside your tent ever since we got here, Dutch. Something on your mind?" Hosea queried, eyes drawn to the horizon as he picked at whatever was inside the can, coming to stand beside him. 

He turned to study the man's profile, noting the defined wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks, and the way the light shined through his grey hair. Time had weathered so roughly on his dear friend. All those years scamming high-profile fools in emerging cities were long gone, they had turned into tidbits of passing wisdom—most of which, he himself seemed to forget. To say he was grateful would be an understatement, and he recognized that just by acknowledging the man's presence. 

Dutch turned back and fixated on a pair of swallows flitting across the sky. "There's quite a lot on my mind. It's... beyond trying to explain, but I'm sure you know all the technicalities of it." 

A sweet, fruity aroma seemed to coat the air in which they were standing. It snapped him out of his trance. Following his nose, he could finally get a good look at what was in that can. It had been so long since he'd seen it, so it took a moment to fully register. 

"Strawberries?" He mused, leaning closer to get a stronger whiff. 

Hosea nodded, taking another spoonful, "It's been months since I've had a good can of strawberries. God, it reminds me of that time in-" 

"Tumbleweed. With that overtly generous fruit farmer." A chuckle resounded from his throat, "he gave us so many crates of apples, grapes and all kinds of berries." 

"Only to find out half of them were rotten once we left. Maggots and flies everywhere—it was quite the sight." 

They shared a fit of laughter beneath the morning sky. Dutch smiled, that happy memory washing away all the stress he was previously feeling. "We were lucky we didn't pay for it, otherwise I would've made a real mess of that fool for scamming us like that." 

"And to think we were the ones goin' round robbing everyone." Hosea shook his head, reminiscent. "That was our first teaching in humility." 

He sighed, nodding. There were countless moments in time where he had been outsmarted, thrown to the wolves without a fighting chance. Yet, miraculously, whenever he was able to make it out by the skin of his teeth, he kept the morals he acquired like a well-worn scar. Should they ever begin to appear one day, he would be a canvas of lessons learned the hard way. 

Dutch was too busy looking out to notice the spoon filled with sliced strawberries being offered to him, but once he did he respectfully lifted a hand to decline. "Oh- I'm alright, thank you." 

Hosea huffed, "This is an excellent batch. When was the last time we've had fruit like this? C'mon, it'll wake you up. I picked them up from Valentine." 

Seeing that it was useless to banter about it, he gingerly grabbed the spoon and plucked it into his mouth, lids fluttering shut at the sudden tangy sweetness that tantalizingly slipped across his tongue and coated his teeth. It was beautiful. Better than sex, even. Well, better than the sex he'd had recently. The memory of picking berries beneath the summer sun as a boy flashed across his mind, but became immediately tainted with sadness as faces he'd much rather forget floated up from the depths. Dutch swallowed then smacked his lips, smiling at his friend, "You were right. That was excellent." 

"Good. Cause there's more where that came from." The older man angled his chin towards Pearson's wagon, "picked up a few extra, just in case you or anyone else wanted some." 

He turned to look behind him, noticing that the others had risen and were milling about: grabbing breakfast, washing up, greeting one another with sleepy nods. His gaze then landed on Molly who had emerged from their tent, sipping a steaming cup of coffee, back turned towards him. An arrow of resentment shot through him as he frowned and looked away, crossing his arms. 

Hosea watched his reaction with an all-knowing look, "I gotta tell you this, Dutch, even though we're all family here, but..-"

"Don't-" He felt his ears go hot. 

"Whatever you're doing in that tent isn't going to solve the rift between you two. I know it, and you know it too." 

Dutch exhaled, running a hand over his soul patch, "I don't know how you and Bessie did it. It's miraculous now that I think about it."

"We did it because we talked, communicated. Not everything has a physical solution, not in the way you believe. Christ, it's bad enough with the arguments but the sounds of you two going at it like-" 

"Alright, I get it." He grumbled, waving off the imagery of his fellow gang members having to listen in on his privacy. He passed his gaze around, noticing the short distances between his tent's placement besides all the others: John and Abigail's, Strauss', the women weren't too far away neither, God, even Arthur's. 

Hosea looked on as he went through all sorts of emotions, shame and disgust being the leading two out of the rest. They stood there for a moment, Dutch seething internally, twirling one of his rings around his finger. "I feel as though it's no longer worth it to try and sort this out. I don't have time for her anymore." He gestured around the scene, "Dealing with all of this, it's taken a toll." 

"Well, you could always tell her that it's over. We're in a new location and from what I've seen, there's plenty of amicable gentlemen with whom she could start a new life. A better one." 

Truth rang in his voice clear as day, but the idea of letting Molly go sparked a new type of fear. "And what if she says something to the law? We've all heard the saying; Hell hath no fury.." 

"..like a woman scorned." Both men completed the phrase, nodding. 

It was an inevitable situation that was only going to get worse. He felt absolutely stuck. But if being stuck meant that she would be near him and away from threats to their existence, then he'd just have to accept it. Whatever was to go down in the next coming days, he and Molly would either have to set their differences aside or become rigidly separate. He flicked his gaze back towards her, sunlight igniting her red locks, brightening the paleness of her skin. It hurt to think that this exact sight was once the object of his affection, but now nothing more but a hollow glimpse. 

Hosea didn't approach the subject anymore, swiftly changing it to the topic of his latest endeavors. "So, it takes a whole day and a half to retrieve a bounty hunter? Even with two of our best men?" 

Dutch's thoughts were redirected towards Arthur and Javier. Has it truly been a day and a half? Where could they have gone? They set out their search when dusk fell yesterday, and still hadn't returned? Worry began to set in as he looked around the entrances of camp for any sign of them or their horses. "You don't think she's killed them, do you? Or worse, roped them in? Javier certainly had been charmed by her, no doubt." 

"Wait, the bounty hunter's a woman?" The older man cut in, astonished. "Why would you send them after a woman?" 

"Because I think we can get the upper hand with an informant on the other end. We could learn the ins and outs of their operations and plots against us—work our way around them." 

A scoff sounded from beside him as he turned to look at his friend, noticing his raised brow and crossed arms, "And how do you plan on getting this information, Dutch? Are you going to torture a woman? Don't tell me you've sunk this low." 

He shook his head, "No, of course not. As much as I detest people like that I wouldn't inflict that kind of harm. You know our code." 

"Then what are you going to do?" 

Dutch took a moment to level Hosea with his gaze. A smirk played on his lips as he steadied a hand on the other's shoulder, drawing close. "Trust me when I tell you that everything's going to be perfectly fine." 

* * *

Thea snapped her eyelids open and sat up, panic spreading all over her body as she whipped her head around to localize herself. Her breaths came in quick sequences, hastening her heartbeat and provoking energy within her muscles. She was ready to bolt, eyes focused at the fluttering entrance of the makeshift tent, adrenaline revving in her veins. 

Throwing the blanket off, she used a foot to propel herself off the cot, hands outstretched to fight anything that came in her way. No way in hell was she staying here, not after all the shit she's been through. 

She must've gotten only a few steps in before she was roughly yanked backwards by her ankle, landing squarely on her side with a pained grunt. Her hair fell over her eyes as they wildly shot through the black strands to pinpoint her assailant—only to find a piece of taut rope tethering her to the steel leg of the cot. Sand coated her forearms and palms as she lurched herself forward, hoping it would slip off if she pulled hard enough. She dug at the ground to try and gain some leverage, but it was no use. "Fuck..! Shit!" She breathed, scattering the grains. 

"Wow, if this were any other situation I'd think you'd be a little more appreciative of the rope, _Daphne._ " 

Thea looked over her shoulder to see him standing over her, wickedly devilish smile plastered on his face. "Javier." 

" _Amor_." 

She knew she looked absolutely ridiculous sprawled out like this, steadying herself on one knee and both hands while her other leg was elongated behind her. Even her shirt had decided to rise to the occasion, hiking up her midriff and revealing the small of her back. It was like his devious thoughts were spelled out across his forehead. "Do you mind?" 

Javier shrugged, "Gotta be more specific Th- oh, sorry, Daphne." 

"Shh!" She gathered a fistful of sand and flung it at him, earning a throaty laugh. 

"Don't worry, big boy's gone fishing. That was his idea too, you know." He pointed at her ankle, "I'm inclined to say that I agree with him. Can't have you doing what you just did." 

Anger rose in her, "Take it off." 

Another cheeky grin, "And what will I get if I do? If I remember correctly, you were quite the tease back in Armadillo. God, I missed you Thea. No woman has ever threatened me with her gun the way you did." 

"Javier! Stop playing around. Please." Her leg was aching now, sending spasms up her thigh. 

The man looked to consider it, squatting down to her level while rubbing his fingers across his mustache. Sunbeams waved in and out of the tent, illuminating his mahogany eyes that seemed so full of lighthearted mischief, but also harbored regret. It was as if he was trying to distract her from the unfortunate situation she was in with some playful banter, but it wasn't working. Understanding dawned on her as she reached out to place her hand on his, tears forming in her eyes. She hadn't realized how close she was to death before this moment. "You can let me go," she pleaded, "I know you want to. I swear I'll abandon your bounties and I'll leave this place for good. You won't hear from me again. Please." 

He wiped the grains off her palm, sighing. His facade had fallen. "I can't. You won't believe me when I tell you how much I hate this, how much it hurts me. But I promise no harm will come to you. Take my word-" 

She snatched her hand away, chest burning with rage. " _This_ is where your word has gotten me. I'm going to fucking die the second they're done with me. Either by your people or mine. So stop acting like you're better than the crimes you've committed." Thea snarled, "You should've left me in that cellar to rot, like your friend wanted." 

It was clear that her words struck a painful note. Silence ensued between them as she bore her gaze into his, two mixtures of the same earth brought together by sick, twisted fates. The man that she had met at that bar who emanated melodies with his smile was not the same one sitting before her. Whose moonlight silhouette she remembered staring after, wondering what made him so enchantingly haunting. Days went by where she would anticipate of what it would be like to see him again, and now, she realized that it was a sin on her shoulders for ever believing that a man who conducted himself as an outlaw, looked like an outlaw, spoke like an outlaw, would ever be deviated from his image. 

Javier parted his lips to say something, but was immediately silenced when the sound of shuffling came from outside. He quickly stood and grabbed her by the arms, lifting her torso off the ground enough so that she could steady herself against the cot. His scent washed over her, perfectly crisp hints of cologne that matched his roguish tendencies. Thea had to turn herself away from him, blushing slightly. He released her gently then walked out, greeting his companion. 

Leaning back, she fixed her olive shirt so that it wasn't showing her skin, wincing at the slight throbbing on the back of her head. The image of the doctor's blank, dead stare flashed in her mind as she reached back to touch the spot, sparking the memory of the night before. After her brief altercation with the larger man over his coat, she had fallen asleep in a pool of tears. Most of it was out of grief, but there were moments in the darkness where she felt the soul-crushing weight of her faults. She reached out to touch the pillow, running a finger across the moist fabric, sighing softly. 

How was she ever going to get out of this? What was she to receive on the other end? Torture? Mutilation? Shivers ran up her neck. She had no one, now beginning to truly feel the connotations of solidarity. Damn her and her stupid desire to constantly be alone. 

Javier poked his head back in the tent, not meeting her eyes. "It's uh.. time to get moving." 

Her skin started to tremble, but in spite of it, she still had a moment's clarity. "What? No breakfast?" 

"No," he motioned behind him, "Dumbass _puto_ only caught fish for himself." There was a glimpse of that mischief behind his words, but was so heavily outweighed by the emotions of their argument. 

He was suddenly shoved forward by a large hand as the other man came trudging through, chomping on final bits of meat skewered on his knife. The smell drifted to her nostrils and made her gag in her throat, appetite dissolved. "You awake yet, Tiger Eyes? Time to go." He grumbled, cleaning off the blade with his tongue. She put a hand over her mouth, disgusted. 

Javier smoothed out his clothes and glared daggers at him, huffing. "You just told me to tell her that, idiot." 

"Untie 'er." He motioned to her ankle, handing the smaller man his knife. He kept his eyes on her as she rope was cut, blue-green gaze daring her to give him an excuse for another display of excessive force. Perhaps another devastating blow to the back of her head, hm? 

Thea gathered her hair and put it in a ponytail, rolled up her sleeves and took a long swig out of the bottle of whiskey sitting beside her cot that the doctor had used to clean her injury. It spilled down and into her empty stomach, she couldn't distinguish the burning sensation as being from the alcohol or the anxiety. She dropped the glass on the sand and watched it guzzle it's contents out, like blood from a gunshot wound. 

She pushed her way past the two men and furrowed her brow as sunlight hit her right in the face, scowling. "I'm not dying sober." Spotting her Lusitano, she placed one foot in a stirrup and was just about to clamber on when she heard the familiar click of a revolver behind her. 

The larger man scoffed, "Don't be stupid. Get off the horse." 

"Is that really fucking necessary?" Javier shouted. 

The second she stepped down he came from behind her and threw her to the ground, knee pressed against her side as he leaned in and growled in her ear, _"This ain't your show to run. Keep tryin' me."_ Hogtying her legs and arms, he lifted her and tossed her on the rump of his horse, but she forced herself not to cry out or show any signs of physical pain, no matter how agonizing it was. She just kept silent, fear bubbling in her abdomen. 

"Let's pack up the tent. Javier, you got the cot?" He commanded, footsteps retreating from where she was positioned. 

The two men quickly got into another heated argument, but in that moment there was a shrill ringing in her ears that drowned their voices out. All she kept seeing was the image of her lifeless form being thrown in a makeshift grave. Parts of her body was missing, she had cuts all across her face, her hair had been torn out in patches. She was bleeding at the mouth, probably from a sustained internal injury. Here lies Amalthea: orphan, bounty hunter, fool. To say that she was feeling regret at deciding to accept this job was understatement. When she found out she was after Javier, that was regret. This... this was like being crushed beneath a boulder. It was damning. The rope tightened her skin every time she shifted on the animal, searing hot, white pain driving her to clench her teeth so hard that she thought they would shatter. A defeated sob threatened to jump out her throat as she wriggled helplessly, fighting for the sliver of a chance to escape. If only she had her knife or her gun, or even a goddamned shard of glass... 

She didn't know how many minutes passed by before she felt the horse spurred to movement, hoof beats muted against the sand. All she was allowed to see was its midnight-colored underbelly, its rider's leather boots and snippets of scenery. The sound of rushing water brought her back to reality, instantly met with droplets of it jumping to greet her each time the horse pressed its foot down. Some of it landed on the tips of her hanging ponytail, causing her to give an irritated sigh. 

"Shut up." His voice called out from above. 

Thea used an excessive amount of force to lift her head up, but that was barely enough to see the side of his face. Half of it was covered by the collar of his coat, the other by his hat. His dirty-blonde hair fluttering against the breeze. "Where's my horse?" 

"Thought I told you to shut up." 

"Fuck you." 

Javier's broke through, silencing the other's retort, "Right here. I've got him." 

Somewhat relieved, she twisted around to see Miguel being led by the little overo horse, nickering happily as he splashed around the water. Her heart sunk at the thought of abandoning him to fend on his own, being the gentle giant he was. It was as if Javier could see the sadness in her eyes, and he gave her a reassuring wink. 

Sweat trickled down her forehead and turned her shirt wet, the morning sun beating down on her frame. From what she could tell, they had reached some sort of coniferous forest, the smell of evergreen sap coating the environment. The horse's pace was at a smooth canter, but with each passing beat her nerves dug deeper and deeper into the pits of her stomach, the newly-set dizziness from the whiskey making it all the worse. At least, it somewhat kept her calm. 

Momentarily angling her head to look back at Javier, she noticed that his expression kept shifting each time her eyes landed on him. From her peripheral, he was biting his lip and repeatedly running a hand over his chin. Whenever he caught her gaze though, he would plaster a smile.

She was going to die, wasn't she. 

A memory of her time back on the bright shores of Greece tried to seep its way into her mind, but she pushed it back. There's no point in reminiscing right now, it would only make things worse. 

Eventually, the animal slowed down, trees grew closer—leaves slipping across her hair. It was almost...relaxing. Like a gentle hand coaxing her. God, this wasn't the time to get sentimental. Keep your guard up. 

Sunlight blared through as her eyes adjusted to what was shown before her. Tents and wagons adorned a perfectly round little meadow, secured by watchful mountains and forests that surrounded the area. It was nestled like a crowned jewel, hidden away from threats all around, threats like her. Shapes that she figured were people milled about, either standing by smoking fires or steaming pots, exchanging muffled conversations. They were so abundant in the way that they moved, she didn't know why she expected to hear brooding hisses of anger, not spurting laughter. To say that she was stunned as an understatement. There were women, older, grayer men, and was that a.. _child?_

She expressed her shock in long exhales of astonishment. Thea had found the Van Der Linde gang. In all it's glory. 

The horse was stopped, its rider slipped off and the voices around grew quiet. She could feel all their eyes on her, and her ears burned with embarrassment. 

"Dutch! Got somethin' for ya!" He called, tossing her over his shoulder. She caught Javier's sullen eyes, and gave him a reassuring wink. 

Before even a moment's notice, she was thrown on the ground, landing in a pile of wet grass. It coated her shirt and pants, the stench of rotten food rising from it. Her eyes drifted around as people gathered. Their faces all seemed to meld into one, poignant and terrifying. 

Slow, calculated footsteps approached. The sound of twirling spurs pulsating in her ears. Everything else seemed to drown out as a deep, cavernous laugh rolled out. 

_"Well, well, well. Now what do we have here?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> homegirl's like 5'6 and this man's tossing her around like a ragdoll. Gotta love it.


	13. Hunter, Hunted

_"Come on, is your heart a sponge or a fist?" - Téa Obreht_

* * *

Her skin burned all over. Spindly needles brought forth by shame splintering the back of the eyes, beneath the tongue, within the ears. It ceased her anger and quieted all notions of fight within her. Almost as if she swallowed acid, ripping into the darkest corners of her thoughts, erasing all she knew to be herself. She wanted to cry, to feel the way tears would slide down her face, a symptom of strife. Yet... to show tears would be to show her teeth bared, something she no longer had the energy to do.

This wasn't anything she was trained for, anything she knew how to take care of in the manner she was taught. The earth below felt like it was going to split open at any given moment, ready to swallow her up and crush her bones within the sediment. To show her that this is how failures are treated. Weakest links buried deep—out of time's memory. 

That voice that knew to scream so well no longer pushed through. It didn't shriek inside her muscles to rise, didn't stir brazen courage from hidden depths. The roar silenced. She lay there on the ground: restrained, beaten, tranquilized. Ragged breaths clambered in and out of her throat, lungs aching as they swelled against their tethered confines. 

An animal would never submit the most integral part of them willingly. Ivory tusks and striped furs were not handed with bright eyes and welcoming grins, 'ah, there's plenty to spare'. No... they were ripped, hacked, and bludgeoned. Whether this action resided in primal need for spectral dominance or painted whispers of growing suspicions, no one knows. The dead remain dead and the living roam in search of other things to take, take, take. And once taken, there's always the lingering question of, _is_ _there more?_

Disembodied voices sifted through the wind around her, hushed yet resonating like distant drums. 

_"Christ, I almost feel sorry for her."_

_"You really think we have the time for this? He's out of his mind, there could be dozens more after us."_

_"Jack doesn't need to see this. Take the boy away, Abigail."_

_"Vagrant whores deserve a good beatin'. Let me have a turn once you're done."_

_"We're no better than O'Driscolls if we harm those who can't defend themselves."_

They were all just words that carried no meaning. Traveling in muffled waves that washed over with none of the depth. It sounded as if a hundred-headed being was talking to itself, a multitude of sounds ringing above. Her fear heightened.

Wet grass pressed up against her cheek, only she didn't know if it were from dew or the weight of her face shoved atop them. Something trickled onto her bottom lip, smelling of springtime green. Crushed. 

The rattling of spurs brought her back to reality, sunlight gleaning off their finely cut stems directly into her eyes. The voices faded and a heavy silence resumed, fixated on what was going to happen. Thea didn't have the regard to even tense up, accepting her death the way she was taught: willingly. That didn't mean that with every breath the man standing above her took didn't rattle her so fiercely that a wave of nausea splashed into her throat. 

She swallowed, tasting the remnants of whiskey, bitter and burning. Oh how she yearned for a swig of sweet, sweet rum to be the last thing she ever put her lips to. What saddened her was the thought of never doing so again. The last time was borne out of hatred and resentment of herself, growing drunk and ending up committing the very act that thus landed her here. Shame held its grip tight. Tighter than even- 

_"Put her up against the tree."_

Before the sound had even registered Thea was torn up from the ground and slammed against the brittle trunk, bits of bark breaking off and making contact with her skin. Her head met it hard, right where the stitches were placed. She didn't even have to look down to see that blood had already begun seeping its way down her neck. Another length of rope was brought around her chest and thighs, fastening her body in place. The one who was doing this to her, the larger man, Mr. Trigger-finger, kept his face down, following orders like the mutt he was. She caught a flash of his eyes landing on the crimson liquid now staining the front of her shirt, but quickly grunted and kept moving. Bruises all over pulsated with agony, but she kept herself composed by clenching her jaw. She dared not look at anyone, keeping her gaze trained on the ditsy sparrows flitting across the sky. Watching them freely weave around the clouds sent a different kind of pain to her chest, but she kept focus—drawing long, tattered breaths. 

Someone made a gasping remark about the blood, but was ultimately silenced. Hey, at least they weren't all deranged monsters. Some of them had a little heart. The beginnings of a laugh started in her throat. God, why was she finding this so funny? She guessed that impending death was a better sedative than what she initially thought. 

All humor was thrown out the window the moment a hand came up to her chin and gently coaxed it downwards. The shock of it not being a blade, bullet, or fist meeting her face caused her to comply, shifting her eyes from the blue sky to... 

Darkness. Pure, poignant darkness. Not even the fabled labyrinths could've held this much black depth. They were so full of weight, yet held absolutely nothing at all. Like watching a shadowed cloud pass above, reigning its power. The scent of lightning would linger in the air, but what was truly terrifying was the unspoken threat that it carried as it slowly rolled across the land, silently calling: _w_ _ill I, or won't I?_ It chilled her to the bone, lips parting in awe as the face cocked itself slightly, amusement glinting on its features. Something innate within her told her to break her gaze, that staring too long would make her lose herself. But she couldn't, she was taking it all in. Dark eyebrows and dark facial hair surrounded those dark eyes, enhancing them to make them even... darker. 

She took a sharp breath as the hand left her face, their warmth tracing a line across her jaw. In a fraction of a minute she had been leveled to submission with a single touch. Now, more than ever, she was afraid. 

"Let me be the first to congratulate you on your achievements, Miss. You've successfully found the Van Der Linde gang." The voice rang out once more and all she could pin it to was... dark.

Chuckles broke out here and there. Somebody was clapping. 

"How does it feel, hm? Knowing that all your hard work has finally paid off?" 

Why the hell was she being asked questions? What's the point? To further her shame? Thea let her head hang, defeat pronounced in her expression. A line of blood had trailed its way down her skin, carving a path down her chest and had just reached her navel, shirt sticking to the wetness of it. 

"Oh, come now. You must feel something. Believe it or not, I've heard quite a bit about you." It started again, nodding expectantly. "Yes. The mysterious bounty hunter, so very determined to make her mark in a world made by men. Poor Javier over there," The voice stopped to outstretch a ringed hand towards the man in question, who looked absolutely shaken, "has found himself quite enamored with you. How tragically romantic, is it not?" 

More laughter, but this time not fully pointed at her. She lifted her gaze to meet his, grief striking her throat the moment their eyes met. He didn't deserve this... not him, anyone but him. She felt like crying out to the stars to let her relive the night they met in that sad Armadillo saloon, to never accept his drink or hear his woeful tale, to blissfully pass as strangers, never to meet again. It all could've been so easily avoided. 

Javier tore himself away from the group, disappearing from sight. The way they regarded him prompted something in her, a sort of defiance that she was once reprimanded for. "At least he's got some form of humanity." She spat, costing her more of what little energy she had. Her chest heaved with exhaustion as the attention landed back on her.

Silence transpired for a brief moment as those dark eyes bore into hers, and her stomach jumped when she saw a flare of anger within them. _"Humanity?"_

She needn't answer the question before she was met with something she finally expected: a blade to her throat. Her breath didn't even hitch for fear of blacking out. "This is humanity, Miss. Me, not driving this," It pressed harder on her skin for enunciation, "any deeper is my humanity—I think your notions have been misguided." 

"Then spare me of it. Fucking kill me." 

Loud, boorish hysterics transpired all around, but the one holding the knife was smiling, leaning close enough take in the scent that washed over her. Earthy cigars, crisp pomade, and... strawberries? How rightfully mysterious. 

Thea felt the pressure on her neck being slowly removed as the voice brought itself down to a sharp, terrifying whisper, "Now where's all the fun in that? I didn't go through all this trouble for you to get here just to kill you." 

She sighed, so close to death one moment ago and now there was talk of her life being prolonged. "Don't be stupid, I'm just as useful dead as I am alive." 

"We need you, Miss. More than you realize." A snap of fingers brought her eyes back up, "Arthur, bring me the papers." 

So that's his name. Arthur. The one who wouldn't meet her gaze. Who gave her the infamous cracked rib-cage that landed her bedridden for a week. The murderous, outright abomination of a man. She was always told not to judge too harshly, but she couldn't help the growing desire to land ten bullets in his skull ravaging her thoughts. All she needed was a gun and a few minutes. Something about him infuriated her so deeply that her cheeks flushed when she saw him smirking underneath his hat as he left the crowd and moved towards her horse. Wait, what the hell was he doing? Papers? What papers? 

"Shit." She hissed as he reentered the group, waving around two distinctly familiar parchments that would ultimately seal her fate. Damn, she was out of time. If the identities of the people who sent her here were found out... well, if she wasn't going to be killed here she surely will be shot at the hands of the officials. And what was worse, should they find Dean's letter with her full name printed out, her real name, she'd have no alibi. Her heartbeat spiked as she watched the papers transferred from one hand to the other.

The voice rolled out again, this time tinged with amusement as it read out the letter, "Find and capture Dutch van der Linde, and/or any collaborating members of his gang and you will be compensated generously. You must get them to-" A deep chuckle emanated, "I'm sorry, I just find this absolutely hilarious. Arthur, listen to this: 'You must get them to talk about their offenses and involvement in the Blackwater Massacre by means of _violence_ and _threats'_." 

Now everyone, entirely everyone, was laughing. Hollering, hooting, guffawing and giggling. It completely enveloped her as jeers were called out, defying her in every aspect. Her sex, height, weight, and even her goddamn face was the topic of a jarring outburst. 

But all she could hear was her defeat. It was laden with their words and pierced into her chest like arrows. 

A ringed hand came up and silence fell instantaneously. The voice continued, "'and deliver the person to any nearby sheriff who will safely transport the alleged back to Blackwater to be hanged.'"

There was wispy shuffling as another chuckle came through, "Goodness, look at these drawings. They got my nose wrong." 

Piqued questions rang out as they all wanted to take a look, the paper was handed back and passed around, remarks being made of each others features danced around the air, making snide comments about one another then turning it back on themselves. Dean's letter, where was it? Had they already found it and read it? They must've. Her cover was blown. 

Dark eyes came up back to her, thoroughly reading her crestfallen expression. She had never felt so purely vulnerable as she did in that moment, and it was conveyed with a pink flush of her skin. "I've got a question for you, and answer truthfully now, we've got a keen eye for liars." 

"Shoot." She said.

"What on earth made them think you were the one to do this job, and to do it successfully? Unless, of course, you found this rolling around on the ground somewhere." 

Thea tipped her head to the side and another spurt of blood ran down from behind her ear and traveled along her jawline, eyes narrowed to slits. "Because I snatch a criminal's freedom the way no one else can. So that by the time you're at the gallows, you're dead before the rope's around your neck. I hold a perfect record, without-" 

"Ah-ah-.. perfect, until now." A finger waggled.

The blood droplet reached her chin and fell to the ground with an emanating tap, "If that's what you want to believe." 

Another chilling smile, "You're saying that right here, right now, you still believe you are going to win this?" 

"Of course," She gritted her teeth, "Hundreds of those letters were given, there could be at least fifty right outside those trees. It doesn't have to be me." 

Some began to look around, unease painted on their faces. Good, let them feel this way. If she was going to die, might as well make it fun. 

The other man swung his broad shoulders from side to side, exaggerated. "Don't see anyone." 

"I don't think anyone's going to save you except for me." The heavy cloud had settled on top of her, shadowing over the light as the beginnings of thunder rumbled in its center. She was in an open meadow and there was no shelter to cower under. 

"Save me?" Thea rasped, vision dotting. "Is that what you call it?" 

A nod, slow and calculating. "I do. This is a business arrangement of sorts, you'll come to see it that way soon enough." 

Her energy had been completely depleted, body falling limp against the strict ropes, mind fogged with exhaustion. "Either...you kill me..- or let me go. But if I were you," she drew a long, shuddering breath, "I'd kill me—'cause I'm just gonna come back for your _head_ if you don't." 

Flashes of brilliant white were showing through the murky waves, jostling together in wait to strike. The eyes watched her falter at her words, noticed every single flinch, wince and tremble that she produced, almost as if they were being counted. It was searching where to hit first. 

"You're in no position to make demands, Miss." 

Clothing shuffled and footsteps drew near, the aroma of pomade, cigars and strawberries made itself known once more. Her mind reeled in search of something to stir her to rise, but there's no longer any use. It had become clear that death was no longer a viable option, the sweet escape ripped away. 

Something soft came up and stroked the trail of blood away, like a kiss of silk. Her eyes traveled down to see a shiny black handkerchief being placed in her shirt pocket, glistening with liquid red. A neatly stitched letter 'D' sat right on the corner. "Our conversation isn't over, but I'll get it out of you yet- for now, rest." 

Thea clenched her teeth while the voice moved away. Strands of hair fell over her face as she kept pace with her breathing, trying to keep herself centered from faltering. This was the one thing she had control over, as minuscule as it was. 

"Get Swanson to take care of the injury, but after that," 

Their gazes met. 

"No food or water until I say so. Nobody is allowed anywhere near, you hear me? I don't care if she offers you your weight in gold, you keep your faith." 

Then finally, it was if lightning had struck. Devastating, soul-crushing. It illuminated everything, turned her blind. It kept hitting and hitting and hitting until she felt every single vertebrae of her spine riddled with electric shock. The words that sealed her fate felt worse than death. Assigned like an oath she was to bear. All that cavernous darkness that she first witnessed had turned into searing, white-hot light. She wanted to scream in agony, but it was too late, the meadow she was standing in had been singed to charcoal. The only thing she could feel was the burning remnants of her failures.

 _"Any beast can be broken."_

* * *

Arthur kept his eyes on Dutch as he pushed past the crowd of people and towards his tent. His hands were balled to fists, anger making itself pronounced in his movements. He was readily pacing, muttering something incoherently. He flicked his gaze back on the girl, her body slumped against the ropes and her head hung, waving slightly with the breeze. The red stains on her green shirt had doubled in size, steadily growing. Had she passed out? She was still breathing, but much more slower now. Before he could intervene, The Reverend settled beside her and had begun to tend to her wound. People began to slowly move away, retiring to their previous activities. The women kept their voices down, but it was clear what they were speaking about. Some of the men lingered, hungrily staring at her limp form. 

Micah rubbed a hand over his mustache, calling out to Swanson, "Let me stitch her up doc', been a while since I've had any fun." 

Bill gave a throaty cackle, swaying on his feet, bottle in hand. 

He tapped the blonde on the shoulder, nodding towards the tents, "You heard what was said, go on. Both of ya." 

The two men gave him an irritated look but eventually clambered off, settling on one of the benches, murmuring strange obscenities that he forced himself to move away from. Arthur looked back towards Dutch.

He was just about to walk up to him but was ushered to the side as Hosea bee-lined straight towards him, huffing.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about? Your big masterful plan was to starve her to death?" 

"I don't think you realize what's at stake here. You heard what she said, there could be hundreds of them, all hot on our trail. That doesn't terrify you?" The man shot back, twirling one of the rings on his hand. 

He held himself a little ways away, picking at a stray bottle cap to not look nosy. The evening sky had begun its masterful array of colors overhead, a muted purple melding into grey tones. A sigh broke out from his lips, exhaustion creeping up behind his eyes. God, what a day. Time wouldn't account for the numerous events that took place in what felt like a short burst of moments. It was only yesterday they embarked from here to Strawberry, but it had felt so much longer than twenty four hours. Why it did, he didn't know.

Hosea's sputtering outburst intruded his thoughts, "Oh come on, you believe that? Don't you think we'd be found out by now if it were true? We're not necessarily hiding in caves, Dutch. A stranger could stumble through the bushes on accident." 

All his peripheral could tell him was that the two men were standing right by the entrance of the tent, trying to keep their argument to a minimal volume. 

"I have no respect for bounty hunters, you know this. She's lucky I didn't tie her up with the horses." 

"Yet a human being—a woman—no less. Would you be comfortable if someone treated Molly like that, or Abigail or Susan? This isn't you, isn't our code. Hell, the way you're acting is scaring me, and I've seen you at your worst." 

Arthur looked back up to her, Swanson had retreated and was wiping blood off his hands. He cocked his head to get a better angle on her face, her closed eyelids fluttering in what he guessed was pain. The sight almost made him feel bad. All that tenacious ferocity seemed to vanish into thin air. Last night he was afraid of her sneaking off while they were asleep, so he came up with the idea to tie her foot down to the cot with rope. A grunt escaped him. Now, looking at her, the image of a hung corpse flashed in his mind. Chills crawled up his neck as his eyes narrowed, exhaling.

Dutch had outstretched his arms, "Once we get the information we need, I'll release her. That's been the plan all along. You're speaking as if she's going to willingly tell us about those Blackwater Officials." A moment of silence ensued, something that was common when the man was trying to make a point. "No, Hosea. I saw how determined she was, and if she's our only lead, we've gotta break her spirit." 

The older man shook his head, "You could earn the same by showing kindness, by giving basic necessities like food and water, maybe even a change of clothes. There's always-" 

"No. We've only got enough to take care of our own. A captive doesn't get those luxuries. But I promise you, she'll be gone in a few days." 

It was clear by the tension in the air that there was no way for Hosea to break through Dutch's stubbornness. He knew it and they knew it. 

"I hope you don't stray on that promise." He sighed, "me and the Reverend will keep an eye on her for the night. I'll see you in the morning." 

The men parted, one disappearing into his tent and the other taking a watchful seat a few feet away from the tree. Two sides of the same coin, fighting for the same cause, one bounded by his humanity and the other troubled by it. He could see where Hosea was coming from, the man had always been one of the more easygoing members of the gang. His well-rounded wisdom and soft-spoken mannerisms were brought forth by his hardships and countless efforts in forming their ideals to what it is today. Without him, unity in perseverance wouldn't make sense. 

Arthur yawned into his collar, blinking away tears. 

It was ludicrous to think they had only arrived here two weeks ago. The bitter frost of the mountains still hadn't wore off his muscles, and sometimes he could even hear the howling winds within his ears while he slept. Dreams of being buried in blizzards or watching his fingers blacken in the cold would plague him every now and then. The way death trudged behind them like a stalking wolf... it was no wonder he couldn't stop thinking about it. They were lucky to get out alive. 

But now, here—in uncharted territories—new sets of challenges lurked behind every corner. How long were things going to be like this? Choosing to flee each and every time, they were bound to run out of places to go. Their faces would be painted and posted and drawn on every post, lamp, and bulletin in every town, ranch, and vista. Part of him shuddered at the thought, to think that his days as an outlaw were numbered. Sooner or later, they'd be caught or killed. Those were the only two outcomes for people like them. But the other didn't shy away from the challenge, piqued at their belief in constantly searching for a better world. If there was one out there, he knew they were going to fight like hell to get to it. As narrowing as their way of life was becoming, Arthur could never doubt the ones around him for wanting the same thing he does: to outwit domestication. 

A familiar voice calling out his name turned his focus astray, stirring him out of his daze and away from the bench he was standing beside. He flicked his gaze for the last time towards her direction, straining to make sure she was at least still breathing. Not that he cared...- it would be an utter waste if she were to die right after they managed to bring her here. 

Her chest rose and fell at a weak pace. Somehow in the midst of being tended to her hair had fallen out, slipping past her shoulders, dancing in the evening breeze. It perfectly matched up in color with the obsidian sleekness of Dutch's handkerchief, the only outstanding feature being dried blood that painted her neck as well as the tip of the fabric. 

Christ, he was holding his gaze for longer than he needed to. She's breathing—alive. Move on. 

He averted his eyes, shaking out his intrusive thoughts with a sigh. The voice called out again and he walked towards it, gently pushing back the flap of the smaller tent to reveal a battered, scarred man looking at him. 

"You callin' me?" He grunted, half his torso leaning forwards. 

"Who else?" John sputtered, sitting up from his cot. They had just removed the bandages a few days ago, and God was he as swollen as a stuffed hog on Christmas day. All along his scars shone beet-red, slick with moisture and the grease of his hair running down his face. He looked like absolute shit, but better than before. "You know where Abigail and Jack are?" 

Arthur nodded, "Grabbin' supper. Pearson made somethin' outta potatoes and the rabbit that Charles brought in this morning." 

"Sounds fucking wonderful. All I've had for the past two weeks is hot water n' oats." The younger man grumbled, gingerly running a finger across one of his scars. "What was all the commotion I heard outside?" 

He stepped inside now, taking his hat off and drifting a hand through his hair. "Haven't you heard? We've got a prisoner now." 

"Prisoner?" 

"Oh yeah. Real dangerous, too." 

"Is it an O'Driscoll? Pinkerton?" John frowned, but ended up wincing immediately afterwards, sucking his teeth. 

Arthur watched him with an amusing glint in his eye, "worse." 

"Quit being a fool and just tell me." 

He chuckled, leaning against the cot, "Bounty hunter. Apparently a very renowned one, too. Sent by the highest men from Blackwater." 

"Huh... you think he's worth all the trouble?" 

"She." 

"w-..she?" 

The look of utter bewilderment on the man's face was enough to make him snort, "Yup. My thoughts exactly." 

John sighed, "well, if Dutch decides that it's what he has to do, then so be it. I hate bounty hunters as much as the next man but..." He stopped for a moment as if he was arguing with his ethics, "I don't know. It's not my place to say anything." 

"I completely agree with what Dutch is doing. Starving her off food n' water will hopefully get us the answers we need." Arthur scratched his chin. 

"Hm." 

"Oh you weren't there, John. I never told you how she clocked my knee then almost slit my throat and _then_ had the nerve to tell me that I need to 'count my days'." He huffed, "she's a stone-cold brute, that woman." 

Silence took hold as the words hung in the air, both men staring at each other, musing. Arthur, recounting past experiences along with today's, still noting the drastic shift in demeanor. He didn't know what was running through his friend's mind, but judging from the viable features on his face it looked to be discontent. Like he wasn't comfortable with what he just heard, like somehow a person like that existed just to hunt them down. It sounded absolutely crazy, but only because he wasn't there to see it. 

“I just hope this doesn’t put us in a bigger mess.” John heaved out a loud yawn, prompting him to do the same. "I should get some sleep." He muttered, laying back down and covering himself up with the raccoon-tail blanket. 

"Yeah..- me too." Rising to his feet, he swayed with exhaustion, bleary-eyed. He staggered forward a bit but quickly caught his balance, "'night." 

"Goodnight Arthur." 

The sky had turned to its infamous blackened blue overhead as he exited the tent, moonlight washing over Horseshoe overlook and its occupants: final farewells being exchanged, mumbling whispers heavy with sleep, yawns drowning out the crickets. It seemed like a quiet, perfect night. 

Only, it wasn't that at all. 

She stuck out like a sore thumb, her silhouette illuminated against the shadow of the tree, visually striking. He stopped in his tracks, watching as a gust of wind ruffled her frame, not even earning a reaction. She remained absolutely still, like a hoisted painting. Although everything around seemed to be in motion, sounds emanating from each and every corner, scattered leaves drifting about, the complete, yet disturbing tranquility that she held rattled him. He breathed out again, deciding not to let it irk him. Any dealings he had with this woman was over, he got the job done. Now whatever Dutch had in store was no longer his business. He hated the fact that he had to keep reminding himself of this. He was just about to turn into his tent when another figure caught his eye, this time earning a much more somber reaction. 

Javier had taken a seat a few feet away from the tree, on his poncho, no less. He was watching her, running a nervous hand through his opened hair every so often. Arthur had to stretch out his neck to see that the man was holding a piece of paper in his hand, shifting it between his fingers. It was far too obscure to get a good luck at, must've been another letter from his homeland or a yearning lover. A twig cracked beneath his foot and the man quickly shoved it into his pocket, not turning around to face him. 

He rolled his eyes, annoyed at how irritatingly persistent he was in showing his affections. How terrible would it be if they all went to waste the moment she would take her last breath. Hell, that seemed more probable than his chances of striking gold with a two-bit, nasty bounty hunter. 

Arthur pressed forward, tying the flaps of his tent closed. He took a seat on the cot, shrugged off his coat, placed his hat on the table, tugged off his boots, and settled in. Before he could even hit his head on his pillow another yawn shook him, straining his jaw so much that it ached afterwards. 

Of all the events that transpired today, the one he was most excited for was this. Sleep: beautiful, warm sleep. He burrowed deeper into the blankets and released a soft sigh as that blissful repose washed over and gently took hold. 

Tomorrow is another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't tell you how many times I yawned while writing about yawning.


	14. Grecian Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T.W. for sexual assault.
> 
> Please, if this subject is sensitive to you, do not read it.

A present, for her seventeenth birthday. It glittered upon the candlelight: a gold hairpin, delicately fashioned into a laurel wreath adorned with little silver flowers. She smiled, grazing a finger across the details. It was...beautiful and priceless. How much it cost, was lost to her. Something profound and sharp hit her chest, replacing the joy with regret. 

_"You don't like it."_

Thea looked up, "Of course I like it. I just..- it wasn't necessary." 

Soft, cradled laughter. So different than the usual hefty, dreary commands. _"That's why it's a gift, Ama. Go on, put it on."_

She turned back, squinting to see her reflection on the ashen windowpane. Finding a stray lock, she gently fastened it to the side with the pin, careful not to tilt it too far so it wouldn't pierce her skin. The sharp edges of the flowers poked at her fingertips as she secured it in place, grabbing the rest of her hair and putting it up with a ribbon. "Thank you, it's lovely." 

_"You're welcome. It suits you."_

Thea flushed slightly and smoothed out her dress, clearing her throat free of the tugging emotion. "So, where we going?"

Dusk had just fallen on the town, muting the blue horizon with a tranquil purple. Normally, it meant alleviating of the day's stress, the promise of sleep and the calm evening breeze to ease the tension out from the shoulders. But not tonight, tonight people were engaged with one another in lively conversations, dancing to the rhythm of playful drums and tantalizing flutes, the streets filled with broad smiles and the air tainted with harmonic laughter. 

_"My, aren't you lucky you share a birthday on the festival of Dionysus. Everyone's unknowingly celebrating you, too."_

She rolled her eyes, scoffing, "No they're not, and actually, I'd rather they not." 

Pairs of torches flitted by with their howling subjects, briefly lighting up her face besides the window. 

_"Come, I have another surprise for you."_

Before she could protest, a hand landed on her arm and pulled her forward—onto the street—right in the middle of a dancing crowd. Flower petals were being tossed into the sky, some getting caught by a passing breeze, twirling into a little whirlwind of red, pink and white before settling wherever they pleased: on the ground, in someone's cup, or in her case, right on top her head, drifting in-between stands of hair. Things that smelled of wine, bread, olives, sweat, smoked meat, and all other fragrances and stenches pranced around her like a spring fawn, beckoning to join the festivities. Half of her wanted to crouch within herself and go back indoors, away from everything and everyone. Being apart of society like this just... wasn't her. She wasn't built to link arms or to partake in songs, it all made her uncomfortable. Fortunately, she considered, she was one of the lucky few who found solace in solitude, despite culture and tradition always bursting through to try and prove otherwise.

And yet, a voice in the back of her thoughts pushed through, telling her that this, all this, is life. To be able to share a smile with another person meant that you are fulfilled. To express love in the form of laughter and soft touches is one of the few pleasures that doesn't last momentarily, it gets ingrained and brings tears to the eyes once remembered. To know that the music being passed through your ears is the same passing through another's brings a sort of comfort that can't be put into words. So why fight it? Why not link arms and partake in songs?

Thea relaxed her shoulders, letting herself move alongside the bodies next to her. She didn't push through them or angrily grumble until they parted, letting herself give a cautious smile, and allowed a lively pan flute to coax her into twirling her dress slightly, just ever so slightly. 

While being led through the group, it was common to paint the face of strangers with flowers; a declaration of festivities. It surprised her, definitely, but she found herself laughing as rose, peony and hyacinth petals softly battered her face and her arms. One even floated across her lips, a gentle, scented kiss.

Trays of food were being passed around and she grabbed an oil-glazed roll, careful not to offset the speed of the person walking through. Biting into it released its heat and she hummed as the flavor flooded onto her tongue, something she was so familiar with yet astounded her every time with its delicacy. Damn, bread was so good. 

She was finally pulled apart from the crowd and into a rather remote building, the word 'Kapeleia' written across the front. "A tavern? But I've never seen you drink before." Her eyes darted around as they entered, skin prickling at the sight. The loud clanging of brass cups meeting one another rang in-between the walls, dark liquid trailed down the corners of mouths and stained fabrics purple, drunken hoots and cat-like yowls reverberated from beet-red faces, hands with empty cups kept raising from within clusters of people like war flags. A nerve in her neck fizzled hot. That part of her that wanted to retreat pushed through, and she began to shuffle uncomfortably. 

_"There's people here who want to meet you. They've heard about how you're prospering in your training and have an offer they'd like you to hear. Plus, a little wine doesn't hurt, hm?"_

Thea slowly lifted her gaze, curiosity burning at her thoughts. Prospering in her training? Strange. As if she wasn't bombarded with criticism not even twenty-four hours ago for not hitting her marks right, now she was prospering? 

A strange feeling washed over her, like she was being intently watched. She looked around, thinking that it was the people she was to meet, but the subject of the matter was sitting right across from where she was standing, piercing through the crowd with such an intensity that it made her breath hitch. It was a boy—looked about her age—if not slightly older. From what she could tell, apart from the obvious and immediate attraction to him, he had brown curls that fell right above his brow, golden tanned skin flecked with sunspots, and an inviting smirk that set her heart alight. Never before had a boy made her chest flutter so rampantly. She caught herself smiling, too, but quickly turned as she was guided away to a table where two very, very, strangely dressed men and a smoking woman sat, all eyes on her. 

"So this is Amalthea. Hello, dear." The way the woman butchered her name made her frown, and she took a seat, hands and knees drawn to the corner. 

They were deathly pale, skin that looked stretched with time and parched from sunlight. Her blonde hair and the men's strange beards stood out like a mule with a lame leg. Thea lifted her chin, "who're you?" 

_"Madame Bennett and the two gentlemen are Mr. Todd and Mr. Wales."_

Such weird names...

"Call me Lilith, Miss Amalthea. We've traveled very far to meet you." 

She was about to say something, but was cut off when the sound of cups being spread across the table diverted everyone's attention. "So, what's your poison? Red or white?" The woman asked, immediately pouring the contents of her cup into her mouth.

"I don't like wine..- too bitter." 

_"Ah, come on. It's your birthday. Enjoy it, Ama."_ A hand pushed it towards her and the smell flooded her nostrils: bitter, rotten grapes. She scrunched her nose but brought it her lips. It trickled onto her tongue: moldy tartness made her face twist, pungent alcohol made her cough as it washed down her throat. Her shoulders spazzed briefly as she sucked at her teeth to get rid of the taste. 

From across the room, despite all the loud hysterics, it was a soft chuckle that reached her ears. She turned back to see him staring at her once more, face painted with delight as he raised his cup and nodded it towards her. Man, even his smile was worthy of a double-take. Thea blushed deeply, wrapping a hand over her mouth. Oh Gods, did that just happen? Did he really just see her do that? 

One of the men seated across from her let out a snicker, "was that your first time drinking?" 

The acridity still lingered. "Uhm... yeah." 

"Get's better after a few more swigs." 

She looked at the cup and grimaced, shaking her head. 

The woman had finished her wine and was signaling for another, "Let's keep this short n' sweet, yeah?" she waited for her drink to arrive and guzzled half before continuing, "we've been keeping a very close eye on you throughout the years. And we think you're ready." 

Thea raised a brow, "ready? For what?" 

_"You're always telling me that you want to travel the world and to discover your fate. Well, here it is. This is an excellent opportunity for you to spread your wings, if you'll accept."_

"What?" 

Thirst started to itch in her throat and she washed it away with another slow, bitter sip. 

"Puttin' ya to work, of course. You'll be able to go to different places as long as you get your job done. What did you think you were training so much for?" Her voice was now pitched with drink, swaying slightly as she laughed with herself. "We've got more of people like you back in the States. Think it's time for you to meet up with them." 

"I-.." words failed her as her eyes drifted across all their faces, a mix of fear and anger rising. Who are these people? Why do they remind her of vultures? What on earth were they talking about?? Her thoughts raced to try and pinpoint the object of the woman's words. Of course she wanted to travel, it's normal for any teenager to want? A memory of when she sighed out her desires to visit the placed she'd read about in her books: vast deserts, newfound cities, mountain ranges that ran as far as the eye could see. Yet to have it form so quickly in front of her like this, the only thing she could tie it to was a bad prank. She tipped the cup to her lips again to quell her anxiety, longer this time. Surely, there was a gift horse or a new dress waiting to be revealed... any moment now. "You're joking, right?" 

The woman brushed a blonde curl away then gave her a plastered smile, "I know, sounds far-fetched, hm? But we're ready to go when you are, dear." 

Realization dawned in silent retribution. This wasn't a joke, but it was definitely a surprise. All those days working tirelessly from dawn to dusk, dusk to dawn... it was for this. To be shipped off without a moment's notice. The passing years had weathered her into no longer asking questions as to why she was doing all of this, what could possibly be the end result of having to perform such highly skilled tasks that no one around her was performing. She remembered days where she couldn't get sleep because of all the tension in her muscles, or when she would cry into starlit hours of the night, wondering when it all would cease. 

Now. Now, it would cease. 

Her skin burned and her stomach lurched as she dug a nail into the chipped wooden table. Wine tasted sweeter now that she faced such acidic betrayal. 

"You didn't tell the girl?" One of the men muttered, giving her a cautious look. 

_"I didn't think it'd be that serious of a topic. She's known ever since we started that this wasn't permanent, I-"_

The woman shoved a painted finger right at her, "Christ, look how green she's gone. Poor thing's clearly shocked, I thought you said that she'd be excited for this?" 

_"She is. This is an opportunity of a lifetime, aren't you excited, Ama?"_

There it was. The tipping point. The same coddling, condescending tone of voice that made her blood boil. She heard it when she fell off a horse and snapped her shoulder out of place, heard it when she was beaten in a fight, heard it when she grabbed two bread-rolls instead of one, heard it, heard it...

Wine emptied into her gullet, burning everything on the way down. It turned her voice rough as she slammed the brass cup down with a resounding clank. 

_"No."_ Thea whispered, dug her nail deeper, feeling a chip splinter into her skin. It hurt to speak out place, out of disrespect, out of anger. This wasn't her at all, wasn't how she was taught. She always had to respond to things in a clear, concise matter. To react out of aggravation was a defamation of character. 

All the background noise faded as she lifted her eyes to reveal them brimmed with tears. "You're going to send me away? With them?" 

Brief silence. 

_"It's for the best. Think about it, Ama. You want to waste your talents on this pathetic island? Greece doesn't deserve you. You belong somewhere where you can climb to the top, just like you're destined to."_

"Destined?!" She burst, earning some stolen glances. "This isn't some stupid story you're always pouring out of your mouth! I'm no Goddess nor nymph that needs to go on a majestic adventure. This is my _life_ , and you're throwing me to these," she sneered at them, "these pale wolves." 

_"Stop this at once, Amalthea. I won't tell you again."_

"Dear, it's on a contract. Signed on the day you were brought in. Once you've completed your training, which you have, you're to come with us." The woman's words kept tugging at her, like this was something she shouldn't be outraged about, that it was perfectly normal. 

She was never one to have a good handle on her emotions, especially when it came to anger. Once it sparked, it burned down everything around her. "I can't believe you. You're truly going to ship me off like I'm some sort of carved export. This is what you do for a living? Mold, perfect, then give away? You're... you're-" 

A hand landed on her wrist and she whipped her head to see that it was one of the bearded men, his teeth gritted. "Shut your goddamn mouth, girl." 

Thea wrenched her arm away, grabbed a full cup of wine and tossed it over him. Hah, pale skin now had some color to it. He sputtered, wiping at his eyes and face. His clothes were soaked, and his beard was dripping. She met the rage in his eyes, daring him to make another move. 

Before he could open his mouth to shout any degrading obscenities she wrapped her fingers around another brass stem, narrowing her eyes as a threat. 

The woman got up from her seat and ushered the men out as well, not meeting her gaze. "Get moving. This is over." After the two had gone to stand by the door, the wet one grabbing someone's toga to wipe off, she halted in her tracks. "I hope you know what you just lost, Lord knows you didn't deserve it, with an attitude like that." 

_"No! Please, Madame Bennett, I'm sure we can work this out."_

Her blonde hair flicked over her shoulder as she dragged at whatever she was smoking, then blew the smoke in Thea's direction, making her bristle. "Absolutely not. Y'all have yourselves a lovely rest of your night, yeah? Bye, dear." 

Now, everything had halted as all eyes watched them leave. Their profound, foreign scents still lingered in the air as she ran a hand over her face, clearing away the repugnant smell of smoke. "Good riddance." 

_"You're a sad, angry little girl. Do you hear me? You've just lost the opportunity of a lifetime because of your hysterics."_

Thea flicked her eyes back, fury still blistering hot. "I'm sorry I cost you so dearly. Maybe if you picked up another child instead of me this wouldn't have happened." 

_"A waste of my time, waste of my years. Reduced to nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing! There was a reason you were in that forsaken orphanage in the first place. I fault myself for thinking you were any different than a greedy, soulless burden."_

She flinched. 

_"You want to know the truth, don't you? Plagued me about it day in and day out like a squeaking rat. 'Where are my mater and pater? Are you going to take me to them?' Your parents didn't die, nor did they lose you. No one had a damned clue where you came from. Just wandered in one day on the brink of death, like a shadow. You were probably dropped off as an unwanted child, too much of a nag to take care of."_

Her mind swirled and nausea bubbled in her stomach. All that rage had doubled down and turned into heavy heartache as the memories of her time as a child flashed in her thoughts. The utter agony of watching families walk by while she sat on the stone steps, waiting for hours, thinking she was going to be found. Her face would be caked with dust and tears, before retiring for the night only to start at dawn all over again. 

_"You weak, insolent girl. I saved you from that hell—gave you life. Taught you, fed you—loved you. I only wanted the best for you, but now you've just squandered it away."_

It hurt. Gods, it hurt. It carved a hole so deep she thought her innards were going to spill out. Her breath quickened, heart beating painfully in her chest as she looked at the spot of blood growing on her finger. 

_"They would've saved you from the fate you would've had here. You could've become something great, worthy of your own stories. Here? A housewife that's good for nothing except birthing children. And even then, that's not guaranteed. That,"_ A slam against the table that made her wince, _"that was your chance."_

A tear slipped down her cheek. She was so sick...sick and tired. She wanted to run into the depths of the night as far as her legs could carry her, and even then, keep running. Run until she reached the sea, then sink into the depths without so much as a struggling cry. She would watch as darkness overtook her and moonlight washed out of sight, then open her eyes to reveal absolutely nothing. As massive as the abyssal emptiness she felt within, she wanted to drown in it. 

Thea wiped her face clean, then reached up and tore out the hairpin, wrenching away stands of her hair with it. It stung, but she was numb. She hit it on the table, parted her lips to say something, but the second a shuddering whimper spilled out, she shut her mouth and walked away. 

* * *

Cool, midnight air hit her face the second she stepped out onto the tavern's veranda, grateful for the dry breeze. She took multiple deep breaths to help ease the hammering in her chest, tightening her grip on the railing as the wine began to take its hold on her through a blurred peripheral and hazy thoughts. Her dress lapped with the wind, almost as if it were pointing her a direction to follow. 

What was stopping her from running away this instant? Fear? Anger? Need for retribution? Or was it something entirely different, something so deeply carnal that she knew would be the ultimate cause of her failure: that sickly, abhorrent desire to have a home. 

Home... it's a shadow of an afterthought now. She needed to focus on survival, on how to buy her ticket out of here. 

Gods, but then again she would ruin that, too. Her emotions would get the best of her and screw over everything she's fought so hard to achieve. Just like a few moments ago. She couldn't even depend on herself to be the successor of her fate. 

Thea looked down at her pierced fingertip, the little spot of blood darkening against the air. She softly blew over it, feeling the way her nerves spiked up their defenses instantly, ready to protect that little area of skin so fiercely. 

As disgusting as that wine was, it was the only thing she yearned for in that moment. Remembering overhearing stories of it's almost magical powers at making someone forget sounded like the perfect remedy for the aching in her heart. So much had been revealed in that span of minutes that things no longer felt familiar. Yes, she felt numb, but there was also this wound deep within that she knew would take days to discover, like a fractured bone just waiting to be weighted on the wrong way. If anything, she was afraid of that, afraid of how it was going to tear her apart and leave her gripping at her knees and crying until her throat ran dry. 

The sounds of the festival were still prominent all around, people were still dancing, more like toppling against each other—if not clumsier—and flower petals were still being thrown. Music blared from each and every street corner, never tiring. 

She sighed, swaying slightly against the railing. Wait, was she drunk? Is this what it feels like? Thea licked her lips, it wasn't as bad as people said it was. She could definitely handle her alcohol better than most. No problem. Nooo problem.

Musing to herself, she angled her neck out from the veranda to look at the stars, entranced by the way they clustered together so beautifully, that even in their chaos, they looked conformed. She tapped her fingers along to the melodies of the festival. 

A door swung open and a voice let out a gentle chuckle, "Ah, there you are. Thought for a second you'd left without me getting a chance to talk to you." 

She whirled on her feet, gripping around to steady herself with a surprised gasp. 

Oh..- it was him. The pretty boy who made her chest soar. Freckled face brushed with hints of a summer's beard. He was so much closer now, and the color of his eyes became a luscious hazel besides the lamplight. Her hand flew to graze her collarbone, taken aback, mouth slightly ajar while her brain dug around for words. His gaze rolled over her and his smirk grew wider, deepening the fluttering sensation in her stomach. To think all she could ever once focus on was her training. Boys were far, far more interesting. In her limited 'experience', she had mastered the ability to longingly stare without looking, as well as tragically flirt until it became too awkward. But hey, practice makes perfect? 

Thea, drunkenly bold, leaned against the railing and crossed one leg over the other, trying to ignore the fact that she was tickled pink. "Um, h-hey." 

He was holding two cups of wine, sun-kissed arms shining bronze. Extending one out to her with a dip of his head, signaling as if she needed it. 

She took it, more energetically than she would've liked, and gulped enough to make her hiss. Even then, it wasn't enough to drown herself in. 

"You alright?" 

"of course," her voice faltered, "thanks for the wine." 

He nodded then looked out onto the marble streets, once packed, now dotted with passing strangers. Her eyes followed. Drifting breezes would come by and pick up groups of forgotten flower petals, dancing with them for a moment before moving on. For some reason she was feeling overtly poetic—must be a drunk personality trait—and found herself tearing up slightly at the imagery. The way the petals fell sadly back onto the ground again sent a shiver down her neck and she blew out a shuddering breath. 

They held the silence before he turned back towards her, "I can never stand festivals. Always find myself drunk beyond reason." He chuckled in his throat before taking a sip of his cup. 

She tore her eyes from the ground, blinking away the blurriness. "It's uh..- kind of the point of this one though. You know, Dionysus. God of wine and festivals." 

"Right." He smiled at her, warm gaze taking her in. "My name's Deion." 

Deion. Not with the hard 'D', the one where it's accented into more of a 'TH' sound, sort of like her name, but rougher. "Amalthea." 

"Ooh. See, you're lucky. I'm jealous of people named after the deities. Your name sounds so much better than mine." He shifted closer, slightly, but closer. 

Thea took a moment for his words to settle and found herself grinning. "What are you named after?" 

He rolled his eyes, "of heaven and earth. I mean, Amalthea takes the high ground on this one. Tender goddess over... sky boy." 

A giggle now. That wasn't even that funny, honestly. She even thew her head back. Deion looked pleased with himself. 

"You know your Gods and Goddesses." 

"Comes with the jealousy, I think." 

Thea laughed again.

The wine cup was empty when she brought it to her lips. She could've swore she only took like two sips... where'd it all go? She peered into the brass goblet, breathing in the aroma of fermented grapes. "Damn." She muttered, hiccuping. 

By the time she looked back up, he was standing close enough to close the gap with a single step. He loomed over her, the smell of a long day's work mixed with a sandy beach musk made her head spin. Heated pink spread across her cheeks and inside her chest, stirring her hammering heart into pumping even harder. 

"Here," Deion whispered, prying her cup away with deft fingers and replacing it with his, "I'll trade you." 

Before she could even process what just happened he reached across with his other hand and pulled the ribbon out from her hair, watching with glinted eyes as it fell from its hold. "You look prettier like this." 

Her breath hitched as his hazel gaze landed on her lips—he drew closer—she felt frozen, a mix of fear edged with curiosity spiking her racing thoughts. His scent ravaged her, reminding her of days spent on the coastal beaches of the island, glowing beneath sunlight and rolling into the heat of the sand. He smelled like freedom: pure, absent freedom. 

There was a twinge of regret that made itself known in the back of her mind, with what little clarity she had left. Like it was recognizing the speed of his confidence was too quick to pin down as genuine interest—and more of a rush to discover. She shouldn't be here, inebriated like this, with half-baked wisdom. 

She was about to say something, something that would've influenced the chase of safety, but the weight of drink coalesced with the pain in her heart turned into a terrifying mixture of indifference. 

Thea stepped forward, closing the gap between them, ignoring the fading protests of her thoughts—focused in on the cupid's bow of his lips. "I do?" 

_"Yes."_

A hand climbed up, wrapped around the nape of her neck and pulled her forward into a wine-stained kiss. Gentle, yet tinged with something primal that sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her eyes fluttered shut, hands itching to reach out and touch him. She didn't know anything about kissing, but as the seconds went by she found herself dipping and waning her jaw the way he was, thoughts eluded out of her mind, emotions rippled away to chase the blossoming feeling in the pit of her abdomen. Her breathing deepened, sighing into his mouth as he ran his fingers over her temple, tipping her face forward so he could slip his tongue in, like a question. 

She made a sound in the back of her throat that drew him back, leaving her lips swollen from his ministrations, hot against the night air. Her mind swirled and for a moment she thought she had lost her footing, steadying herself on the veranda.

"Let's get out of here," Deion's hand slipped down to land on her hip, thumb stroking the fabric of her dress, "there's a hidden cove next to the beach where the moonlight hits the waters just right..." he breathed into her hair, "unless, you have to go back inside." 

Thea's skin burned with desire every time he touched her, body swaying under his strength. 

To go back meant re-submitting herself, it meant accepting all those words said to her, meant giving up the little freedom she had just found. There was nothing thrilling about familiarity, but even more so now that she felt stripped down to the bone. 

_A greedy, soulless_ _burden_

 _sad, angry little_ _girl_

She looked back up into his eyes, then downed the rest of his wine, slipped her hand into his, and smiled.

"Take me." 

\---

Footsteps pounded against the marble streets of the town, growing faster and faster, matching the beats of vicious drums. Silhouettes of people, buildings and statues flitted away into the shadows, disregarded. The sounds of the festival faded behind the shoulder, melding into the background like a wispy mirage. There was no need to be apart of them anymore, the night had turned into something far more delicate wherein the promise of a good time was held a different standard. Small spheres of fire fed by resin to keep alive burned into the late hours, but it was all for nothing, they could never witness their borne intentions, just keep smoldering 'till morning. Hand in hand, the only thing felt being the strength of the grip, drunken laughter overtaking the stillness of the air. 

The slapping of her sandals began to sting at her soles, leather straps burrowing into her skin. She slowed down, gasping for breath, still being tugged forward slightly until he realized what was going on. "W-wait, hold on." 

In the split second that she stilled her body the weight of the wine caught up to her. Her mind was spinning and she could barely keep her balance, tipping over on her side, exerting to catch herself with an extended arm. Something swirled in the pits of her stomach, a warning. 

Deion laughed, slightly panting, "You're alright. We're almost there." He was still holding her hand, if not tighter. 

Thea reached over and pulled off her sandals, tossing them onto the empty roads with an irritated grunt. She rose to her feet—more like stumbled—feeling the frigid stonework send little shocks up her legs. A giggle bounced out of her throat before she could even stop it. 

Without warning she was pulled into another kiss, much more sloppier and heated, his tongue brazenly darting into her mouth, intertwining with hers as he rumbled a low moan. It took moments for the action to even register in her mind, a surprised gasp emanating from her as he gripped at the sides of her face with a fierce passion. She tried to enjoy it, placing a hand on his rigid chest cautiously, fingertips grazing the outlines of his muscles over his clothes, trying to focus on something else besides her withering interest in this kiss. 

Out here in the open like this, doing these kinds of deeds, it wasn't her. She couldn't remember the last time she was this bold, but then again, she couldn't remember much of anything. Her eyesight was dotting, waves of black sloshing into her vision as she felt her heartbeat suddenly spasm, like it was trying to stir her awake. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. 

He pried his lips off hers, strands of spittle following suit. His perfumed musk was gone, replaced by the thick smell of wine that seemed to entrap them both in this heavy haze. He reached down and grabbed her wrist, yanking her towards the sound of crashing waters. 

The beach wasn't too far from the town, but far enough that no one in the right mind would go searching for two strangers at night. The hard marble below turned into a multitude of grains as they trudged forward, her legs staggering against the surface of the sand. She looked out onto the dark sea, the way its surface now matched its depths was a terrifying concept, something she couldn't fathom. Total darkness, surrounded by the unknown, with nothing to seek asylum. 

A chill ran up her neck. 

She turned her eyes back to land at the sight of a laurel tree, the very same where she heard countless tales beneath, where she would return to after a hard day of training with her incessant ramblings, where she now looked upon with a shattered heart and a swilled mind. She wasn't deserving to even reach out and run her hand across its bark, fearing that a lightning bolt would pop out of the sky to strike her down. Foolish, sinful girls do not belong underneath the laurel tree. 

But all she suddenly wanted to do was sit there, in the dip where sand touched the roots, listening to leaves that danced with the wind, creating a sound more romantic than a gentle flute. The want ached in the confines of her chest, feeling like a child again, wishing to be under the watchful eye of the beautiful nymph Daphne. She slowed down once more.

"Hey..! What are you doing? Come on, we're almost there." Deion went and put his other hand on the small of her back, pushing her away from the tree and towards a rocky, shadowed area. She complied under his strength—a newborn lamb besides a towering shepherd. 

Her eyes kept going in and out of focus, and she hit her ankle against a jutting stone, crying out once her nerves realized. Damn it, she never should've taken off her sandals. A hand cut off the scream, fingers wrapping around her mouth and indenting into the soft meat of her cheek. "Quiet!" He hissed, wiping away the trickling tears from her eyes with his other hand, purely driven to get her to this cove. The pain dulled into her bone, numbing the way her foot flexed and leaving it slightly limp. She couldn't angle it downwards to steady herself on the rocks. 

But Deion was impatient, and drunk. It was clear enough in his body language that he wasn't the same one who seduced her in the tavern. 

He had turned into this hungry animal that made every inch of her skin quiver with fear. It paralyzed her enough to not run, nor to tell him that this was not what she wanted anymore. 

His arms came forward and grabbed her with enough power to lift her off the ground and place her right where he wanted, away from sight, underneath a crag that curled over their heads enough to barely form a cave. 

This wasn't a cove at all, it was a pond with some weak reeds and filled with stacked rocks covered in moss. It smelled of rotten fish and there were animal bones laying around, it made her stomach turn sour and a gag reached her throat, "where..- where are we?" She sputtered, looking around. 

"Somewhere were no one will hear us." He leaned her against the rigid surface, bringing his body close—clothes rubbing against one another—the tip of his nose grazing across her cheek, "You're so damn beautiful, Amalthea. I want to-" his teeth sank into her earlobe as the heat of his breath made her tremble, "-Fuck. You." 

A line of sweat dripped down the side of her face, borne out of sharp fear that screamed through the drunk layer of consciousness. 

He was holding her in place with his weight, chest pressed against hers as he started to trace lines from her chin down to her collarbone with his tongue, rubbing himself against her, the smell of rotten fish mixed with his pungent musk making it so overwhelming she stifled her breath. 

"The way you were looking at me in that tavern, mmh, you knew you wanted me to fuck you." 

Something was pulsing in the back of her head, bouncing her back and forth between reality and the safe haven she kept thinking she was still in. She was at home, this was a horrible dream, it wasn't real. Close your eyes, it's not real. 

His knee shoved forward and parted her thighs, enough room to place his hips right on top of hers. He groaned at the contact, she shuddered.

You're not here, you're not here. You're at home. After the festival you went home. Keep thinking about your bed, the warmth of the blankets, the sound of the horses talking to each other outside. You're not here. Not here. 

"Let me see you." Deion ripped at her dress, pieces of fabric floating in the air for a moment before drifting to the ground. Cold air hit at her exposed skin, but was instantly replaced by his wandering hands slithering up and down her body, grabbing and pinching the flesh. 

Don't do this. I don't want it. I only liked kissing you. Please, don't do this. I'm scared it's going to hurt. I'm not ready. I want to leave. Just wanted to forget about the pain in my heart. 

Thea heard the sound of clothes falling to the ground and dug her fingernails into the rock, the beginnings of a cry forming in her throat. But she knew no one would hear her. 

Words fumbled out of her mouth, "nnn- don't... I don't-" 

He pushed his hips harder, something prodding at her entrance."Shh. I want to enjoy this." 

Please.... please. No. 

Don't-

"You better not make a sound." He grabbed at her sides and flipped her around, slamming her bare front on the rock, gravel scraping at her face and skin. Her hair was pulled backwards, wrenching her neck into such an angle that she couldn't even breathe right. 

She tried again, as much as her twitching jaw would let her, "d-..deion. pl-" 

"Quiet."

Thea felt something tear inside her, followed by a burst of searing, crushing pain. 

Deion moaned behind her ear, then set an agonizing rhythm. 

And somewhere in the midst of it all, she blacked out into a dreamless, painless slumber. 

* * *

Rippling waters lapped at her hands, chilled with the tint of morning's frost. Pebbles and sand pressed against her bruised cheek, clinging to the wet hair that was draped across her face. The fin of a fermented fish was a mere inch away, her blurred eyes landed on it's blank stare and gaping mouth, innards eaten away by some human or animal, but it's head had stayed frozen in the moment, waiting all this time to finally meet her with its daunting, deathly gaze. It definitely stirred her awake, the sight paired with the smell sent her neck reeling backwards. She hissed suddenly and shot a hand up only to find tender spots just like the one on her cheek all over her chest, jaw and throat. Confusion spread in her muddled thoughts, she looked around. Where was she? Why was she laying in a pond with dead fish laying around? What in Zeus' name was that smell? 

Somebody was screaming nearby, it kept drawing closer until she realized they were screaming her name. 

_"Amalthea?! Where are you? Ama!?"_

She wanted to respond, but for some reason there was a rigidness in her throat that made her give out a scratchy wheeze. 

_"Who's there? Hello? Have you seen a girl-"_

A heavy, heavy pause. 

_"Have mercy..."_

Thea sat up, head pounding and eyesight barely focused enough to only see three feet in front of her. Her mind kept blanking and nausea splashed around in her stomach. "where..- where am I?" she coughed, trying to ignore the things that ailed her. 

The pulsating of her ankle turned her attention to see that... she was naked. Naked and roughed up, bruises and scratches all along her waist, hips and down her legs. Why was she naked? A curdling cry tried to climb out but it hurt too much, all she could do was weakly gasp at the sight. Tears stung at her eyes and her cracked lips were singed with the taste of wine mixed with something... horridly salty. 

"What..?" She murmured, the reigning emotion being confusion. She could worry about what hurt later. How on earth did she end up here? 

Splashing of water turned her attention back to see a white cloth falling over her frame, _"Here..."_

Her wet hair clung to the fabric immediately in refuge, but she was too busy looking around to even notice.

_"What happened after you left the tavern?"_

"I don't..- I don't remember." She responded, dread slinking up her chest, coiling itself around her memory. 

_"Can you stand?"_

She tried, if anything, she tried.

It hurts. 

But the moment her legs stopped shaking and she got to her feet, there came a strangled choke. 

_"...Oh Gods.."_

Her brows knit in bewilderment, and she followed the fear-glazed eyes to land on a sight that made her knees buckle, falling into the shallow pond with a shrill cry.

Blood.

dripping down her thigh and onto the ground, bright red streaks carved through her skin like an angry painter, mixing with the muddled water, pooling crimson. Her gaze flicked to more spots, trailing from a large rock, across the gravel and sand, all the way until it reached right where she was standing. 

Then the pain came. 

It started inside, pulsing hot like a whip that was lashing her womb, worse than any cramp she'd ever felt. She felt like something had been there that shouldn't have, that's why it hurt this bad. 

Realization dawned quicker than she would've liked. Hit like a hard slap. 

She had been drinking. Leaning on the veranda, tapping her foot to the music, looking at the stars. Then he followed... two cups of wine... his name, Gods what was his name again? Hazel eyes, brown curls, sun-kissed skin... a dazzling charm. They talked, she drank some more.. took out her ribbon... first kiss... 

A question. Get out of here? Take me. She had said 'take me'. 

So... he did. 

It was her fault. All this happened because she allowed it to. Her, and her stupid, foolish tendencies. The weight of the blame felt leaden atop her shoulders. 

_"Who did this to you?"_ An angered, low whisper. 

It hurts. 

Thea couldn't remember his name... what the fuck was his name? 

Doesn't really matter now.. does it..? 

She tried to stammer out an answer, but she couldn't stop staring at the blood trickling down her leg. "I-" 

_"Come. I'm taking you to a healer. You're going to be fine, just fine, alright? We'll figure this out later. Take my hand, Ama."_

Moments passed before she could do so, but once she did, she was gently guided out of the beach and back towards the town in slow, trudging steps. She could still feel the wetness in-between her thighs, but tried to ignore it. 

_"When you didn't come home last night, I thought you'd left... for good. I'm- I'm so sorry Amalthea. I shouldn't have said those things, it was out of anger and against my better judgement."_

She didn't respond, just kept looking at the ground.

_"I went out at the crack of dawn to look for you. Something kept telling me you were in trouble. Went all around the island. Found your sandals thrown on the road, I just followed the footsteps until... until a few moments ago."_

It hurts so bad. Why hasn't it stopped hurting? 

_"You'll get the right medicine and you'll be fine. You'll overcome this, I know you will. You're strong and brave, stay that way, alright?"_

No. Neither strong nor brave. A weak, blasphemous coward. 

Passing stranger's questionable stares was hard enough without their followed gasps at the sight of the trail of blood afterwards. 

They entered a small building and the smell of herbs overwhelmed her to the point of almost retching—but she clamped her jaw shut—hard enough to make her teeth ache. 

_"Wait here. Just sit in this chair for a moment so I can sort things out. Breathe, alright Ama? Breathe."_

Footsteps retreated out of sight, she forced herself to sit, trying her best to ignore the searing pain that came from inside that made her want to take a blade and cut it out. 

Couldn't speak, couldn't look around, couldn't do anything besides try and remember. The soft scent of dried mint reached her and wafted around, drowning out the rust-like smell of blood, bringing forth a sense of calm she wasn't expecting, but was grateful for. It was laying on the table, beaten by harsh rays of sun to the point of looking like kindling, but it enhanced its aroma so well, had it roasted a moment longer, it would've burst into flames. 

If her mind allowed her mind to remember anything: it was that mint was good for nausea. 

Thea cautiously reached out her hand from beneath the white cloth and tugged at a crisp leaf. It came off seamlessly and settled into her hand like a feather. She used her thumb to crush it against her palm, then brought to her mouth. 

She closed her eyes and let it work its way into her system, breathing out a scented, soft sigh. 

The pain had not subsided, nor would it ever. But the best she could do, if not the only thing she could do, was try and treat it. 

She waited in that chair, rocking back and forth. A tear slipped down her scratched features. 

It hurts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this was... personally taxing. 
> 
> Thea is a character whose gone through rough seas, her experiences add to her flaws as well as her strengths. This chapter was not written to enhance the story nor thicken the plot, it was to show the thing's she's gone through that made her what we see in the present time. If anything, call it a filler.


	15. Mud & Morons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scouts Valentine  
> T & J break the rules!!  
> D finds out, scolds J, gets T alone

_Horseshoe Overlook_

Light rain tapped on the roof of his tent. A cloudy morning's fog hanging in the air. There was nothing out of the ordinary that could've disturbed his peace, this was the first time in a long time where he woke out of his own accord. Last night's sleep wasn't as blissful as he would've wanted anyway: filled with tossing and turning, fleeting nightmares of falling off a cliff, as well as having to get up and take a leak more times than he'd like to accept. May as well get an earlier start to the day now that there's a chance to. 

Arthur sat up with a huff, running a tight hand over his jaw, feeling the bristles of his faint beard settle under his touch. He got up and walked over to the wash-barrel, raindrops freckling his clothes. Christ, he didn't even know what time it was. Too early to be doing this shit, that's for sure. There was not even a stirring breath to be heard, let alone seeing anyone moving around in the thick haze. Grunting, he bent over the barrel and splashed his face, taking a sharp inhale as the cold water stung his cheeks into a rosy pink. 

He breathed through the trailing droplets, grip tightening on the wooden brim as the rain began to fall down harder. Damn, now everywhere's gonna be slick with mud. 

A memory of the blizzard in Colter flashed in his mind and he nodded to himself in acceptance, better this than the hell they faced up there. Having to bury the pale-blue corpses of the ones that passed beneath leagues of snow was more harrowing than anything he'd ever faced. Remembering how he'd have to dig straight down for hours only to barely strike dirt... it was a task he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. 

Returning, Arthur threw on his coat and pulled up the fur collar, rubbing his hands together as a frigid breeze pounded through the flaps of the tent. He cast a longing look at his cot: the way the blankets promised the embrace of warmth and rest, his eyelids drooped at the sight.

But no, he had to go check out Valentine. Dutch told him that the gang needed money, and this town was the best place to look for rich pickings. The law ran heavy and the people were seedy, but luckily for them, they knew just how to deal with both. 

Fortunately, all he had to do was scout the place out. No serious involvement, just get a good look at things before deciding to let in the real experts—Hosea, Strauss, Trelawny (if he showed up)—work their magic. A good hilltop and binoculars might do the trick, should the rain decide to let up. If it doesn't, he's gonna have to choose between trying another day or getting a more risky, closer look. 

Another gust of wind shook his tent and the sound of pattering rain grew more pronounced, quieting the rest of the environment to a dull hush. He straightened his coat out for the last time then stepped out, immediately regretting doing so with a heavy sigh. 

It was too bleak to look around, and he was too dead-set on getting the task done to notice anything else. Breezing past the tents and damn near running to the horses, Arthur greeted Dena with a quick pat to her neck while clambering on, twisting her out from the others and setting off into the fog.

"To Valentine," he told himself, spurring the black mare into a fast canter.

* * *

"Uhm, can I get you anything?" 

"How about some water." 

"Ah..- can't. I was thinking more along the lines of like... clothes..?" 

"Water." 

Her voice was leaving her in rattled gasps, head rolling against the tree, wrists aching from tension. She didn't know how long she'd been out for, but she woke up feeling worse than ever. Nothing could've compared to the restless pounding, the inability to form collective thoughts, as well as the drying thirst that ravaged her throat. 

Thea remembered having a dream of the night of the festival, the image of her torn dress reinstating itself like a defiant child. It was the one constant, that and the floating words that scraped inside her mind, _"Any beast can be broken."_

Spoken by a dark voice, paired to dark eyes, leaden with dark intention. She was the beast? Her? The one whose trying to rid the world of their kind? To be treated like a buck-wild stallion designed to bend to the man with the strongest will? No, it couldn't be. She was no beast, and this wasn't an iron corral for the perfect display of mastery. 

Rain battered down on the camp, rolling off their protected tents and wagons, but the density of the drops trickling off the leaves felt heavy as they landed on her wet hair, wet skin, wet clothes. They provided little sustenance, and she didn't have the energy to keep licking her lips each time something trickled down them. God, she could gulp down a waterfall right now if given the chance. 

Javier made a face that expressed his pity, and she wanted to spit at it. 

Yes, he had been by her side for the majority of the night, only departing for a few hours to walk around the perimeter looking over the bushes with a repeater. But in all that time, there was nothing that could've stopped him from untying her, or even giving her something so she could do it her damned self. Anger would coil itself in her stomach as she watched him settle beside the tree and give her longing, sad stares before she was pulled into the darkness once more. 

"You're pissed at me. I know and I'm sorry. If there was anything I could do, anything-" 

Thea drew back, shaking her head. "You would've done it." 

Wait. The letter. Where was it? She wasn't called by her real name, let alone even her substitute one. Had they found it and read it already? She had to know. "There's actually something... you can do." 

He tilted his head, cheerful glint in his eye. "Tell me." 

"The papers that were taken from my satchel..." She trailed off as a piercing thought made itself known. How was she to know he wasn't just going to submit it to his leader? They were on opposite forces, after all. Despite his eager helpfulness there was the shadow of the doubt- 

A parchment was pulled out of his pocket before she could finish her thought. 

"You mean this?" He grinned, flicking it open and skimming over it. 

Thea grimaced, shoving her torso forward as far as it could go in an attempt to get it out of his hands, hell, if she could snatch it away with her teeth it would've been enough. He didn't need to know the contents. 

But it was too late, he was smirking hard enough to make her sigh in defeat. Another cover blown. 

_"Amalthea._ " 

"Shut your mouth or I'll castrate you first." 

His laughter was a beam of sunshine, it almost made her forget she was tied up. "First?" 

"Mhmm," she nodded, fighting to keep herself awake. "I was..- going to save you for last but now I have no choice." 

"Ah, hopefully I'll redeem myself by holding this close." Javier traced the corner of the letter with his finger. His tone dipped to a more serious note as he glanced back up, "Do I need to ask if you responded? Cause I would have to tell them that they're sending Pinkertons after us, too." 

She had to dig in to her memories of when she scribbled down her response, right before she left the hotel to go to the saloon. The sweetly bitter taste of rum danced on her tongue as she swallowed thickly. "I did. Told them I have a lead on your whereabouts. Should keep them hush for a few more weeks." 

"Okay... good." 

"I'm serious about my name, Javier. It's important you don't say anything to anyone. I'm trusting you on this." 

He folded the paper and pressed it against his chest, "Oh I wouldn't dare. Not when my balls are on the line." 

Her smile was cut off by a brash sneeze, and it had her spent. She didn't know how much longer she had—days at most. For the life of her she couldn't remember the last time she had a sip of water. Hell, even when she was trekking out in the deserts of Mexico and Morocco she always had a bottle of alcohol as a companion. Oh, how she longed for the boiling heat and the feeling of sand underfoot. Anything would be better than this. 

She sneezed again, hard enough to shake. 

"Take my coat at least, please? I couldn't live with myself if you caught a cold. _¿Aver?_ You're sniffling." 

A glint of oranges and reds came into view as he shifted closer, arms outstretched as he casually slipped it over her head and settled it like a blanket. It was warm and smelled like him, crisp cologne mixed with the smell of rain. No matter how much she wanted to detest it, it was the first sense of comfort she'd felt in a long, long time. She couldn't help but fall into it. 

Before he could get out of reach she whispered besides his ear, "I'm going to die here, Javier." 

It was a statement of acceptance. 

"W-what? No you aren't...- You. Aren't." He knelt on a knee in front of her, "we're not like that, not like what you've heard or read. I swear, Thea. This..- I don't know why this is happening." 

He sounded so unsure, so ridden with uncertainty that his words felt heavy against her skin. 

"Well, don't I feel special." 

He gave her a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder while she was looking at him with a blank, shrouded stare. "I've gotta go, but once the rain clears I'll be back. Don't uh, go anywhere?" 

Javier realized what he said seconds after the words already spilled out, face crinkling in embarrassment. He was trying to make light of this dire situation, something she couldn't be mad at him for. They shared a brief smile.

Then just like that, he was off. Into the mist. Silence resumed and she was left staring after his fading silhouette melding into the rain. She frowned, misery stabbing the inner corners of her chest, diluting the flicker of perseverance. If only she didn't feel for him, if only she had absolutely no knowledge of who he was, this thing would be a whole lot easier if she didn't. His smile and his scent and his smooth sense of infallibility that made her wonder how he ever could fall in with a pack of such ravenous wolves. He didn't belong here, he wasn't a killer. Hell, she couldn't even peg him for a gunslinger even if she squinted. 

Her imagination spread like a driving river, and as much as she despised it, she couldn't help but imagine what it could be like if things were... different. 

Different in the sense that if she wanted to follow after him, she could've. 

* * *

The rain cleared up just as soon as he reached the hilltop, Dena shaking her coat clean with a happy whinny. Mud lined her hooves and ran up to her knees, but the pair donned giddy expressions—at least—he felt like she was, with all her bouncy reactions. Arthur decided it would be best to test out his new mare's speed on the way to Valentine, and the second he spurred and gave a hard, _"Hyah!"_ They were barreling through the slick roads with the wind at their backs. Christ, he'd never felt more alive than on the back of a galloping horse. It made his blood burn and his eyes turn keen. Being able to feel the beast's muscles working underneath his thighs and the beats against the ground as they cut through the air with astounding power. 

His lungs screamed for oxygen and his heart pounded relentlessly, but he'd be damned if he didn't relish the way it left him breathless. 

"That was beautiful, girl. Just beautiful." Arthur gasped, blowing hot plumes onto the chilled atmosphere. He rested his hands on the horn of the saddle, sweat trickling down his temple, grateful for the break in the sky as sunlight shone through. 

Valentine lay below, short wooden buildings outlining the cedar forest that shrouded from behind. The sounds of the town loud enough to reach even his ears: the clanging of tools, blustery conversations and scattered barks and neighs from pestered animals. Oh, this was rich pickings alright. 

Hosea mentioned how this was a place of 'mud and morons', and it certainly was. Perfect for his own gang of morons to slip right in unnoticed. Micah and Bill and Javier would do well here, even John if he was up for it. 

He took out the binoculars for a better look, flicking between the buildings. The Sheriff's, there's the General Store... Gunsmith, the stables, saloon, hotel... this was the markings of a startup town if he'd ever seen it. Reminded him of the beginnings of Blackwater, almost. That is, before the bankers moved in and the money went towards adding more traits of civilization.

Arthur groaned inwardly at the remembrance of Blackwater: how all his money that he spent years saving and risking his life for was sitting, wasting away into time with the faulty promise of never being seen again. He knew, deep down, that no matter how grand Dutch talked about their eventual return, it just wasn't going to happen. Not for a long, long time at least. Being up in Colter reinforced that. How the bitter cold seemed to provoke everyone into the realization that nothing could ever go back to how it once was. It was a sad and somber thing to think about, dulled hope like rust. 

So here they were, scraping at the ground for opportunities that they'd already faced once before. This was nothing new for him, but for the sake of the gang, and for Dutch, he had to follow through. 

He centered his focus on Valentine once more, zeroing in on a man hammering what looked like posters on the outside of the Sheriff's. Too blurred to see the details, but judging from the big red numbers he figured they were bounty posters. He clenched his jaw at the sight. 

Shameful people did the dirty work for the law. Nobody else had sour enough guts. They all carried 'holier-than-thou' like it was some mantra to be proud of. 

Yet, desperate times called for desperate measures, didn't they? And this was an outlet he was sure would prove to be an additive to their pockets. 

He had to chuckle at the thought. Arthur Morgan: bounty hunter. Sounded vile, considering everything. Hey, maybe he could get a few tips from the woman herself. She must surely know how to destroy a man's freedom with a single flick of the wrist. Hell, she's a goddamn professional. 

It was a sorrowful thought to ponder on. He moved on. 

Now that the rain cleared up and patches of sunlight scattered the scene, it was easier to get a good layout of things. After all, he was only scouting. There was nothing of true interest until he was able to get down there, and he wasn't planning on it anytime soon. When they first settled in camp, Dutch mentioned how Charles and Javier were to go for a more in-depth look, starting with the saloon. But now that _one_ of them had more urgent matters to attend to, it was pushed back.

Arthur put the binoculars away and pulled out a stale piece of bread and some cooked venison from his satchel, deciding to have breakfast on the saddle. 

He reached back in and gave a fondling black muzzle its breakfast, too. 

* * *

Thea was fading in and out of consciousness, feeling the rainwater absorb into her skin and slowly dry out from her hair. It went hot after it stopped pouring, humidity rising from the ground and settling in the air like a thick fog. The sun warmed her up enough that she began to sweat beneath the poncho, but she couldn't get it off without help. She even looked quite ridiculous with it on, earning strange looks from those who passed by. 

People were milling about now, enjoying steaming cups of coffee or diving into tin cans of fruit with morning's drowsiness. Her stomach growled at the sight and the smell, mouth salivating with an aching bitterness. She hated herself for expressing even the smallest bit of want, her healthy ego would never have allowed it. 

Her legs began to spasm against the tree from exhaustion, joints faltering from their locked-in holds, making it unbearable to stand. She tried to loosen herself a bit by trying to take a step forward so she could sit, but the moment she did the ropes grew tighter and pulled her back harder. She huffed in frustration, elbows scraping against the bark and splintering off into her skin. 

In the midst of her struggle, she hadn't noticed the pair of doe-like eyes staring up at her from three feet off the ground. A mushed peach in its small hand. 

Thea turned her head and narrowed her gaze: a child. Barely rising to her knee, dusky brown hair ruffled and cherub cheeks glazed with food. His clothes must've been tailored from an adult's, little sleeves and pockets fashioned by a concise hand. 

He was holding the peach out to her, some of its juiced dripping down his fingers and landing on his coat. No matter how much she tried to fight it, her heart broke at the gesture. 

This child didn't see the border separating her from him, nor the indignity of her situation. He didn't know about the hopelessness that gathered in her chest, or how she was going to die in a matter of days. 

Or, maybe he did. Maybe he saw exactly that. 

What was he doing here, in this camp? Surrounded by these people who walked around with handguns in their pockets and shotguns on their backs and death in their eyes. The innocence framed in the rosy lining of his face made it hard for her to breathe. 

The boy opened his mouth as if to say something, but was immediately cut off by a shrill yelp.

"No, Jack!"

A woman burst through and immediately rustled him up in her arms, her blue eyes glaring daggers at Thea. The child mewled his protest but fell silent as she scolded him, "Didn't I tell you to stay away from her? Be a good boy now and finish your peach." 

He was carried off into a tent, peeking over the woman's shoulder and stuffing the fruit into his mouth. She smiled weakly, but didn't know if he caught it soon enough before he disappeared. 

The brief interaction left her wanting to sob, but she wouldn't dare show these people how much it affected her. For all they anticipated she was a bloodthirsty coward too stupid to hold her own, and she'd like to keep it that way—for now. 

A taunting whistle sounded from behind, one high note paired with one low. She couldn't turn around to see but a prickle of dread ran down her spine as footsteps drew near, her breath quickening. 

Closer and closer it came, slow enough to raise alarm in her. Another whistle emanated, playfully questioning. 

A finger tapped her arm and she flinched hard enough to bite down on her tongue. 

_"Tranquila...tranquila._ It's me." 

"You fucking-" 

"Shh. I'm gonna cut the ropes." 

"..what?" 

Thea angled her neck as far as it could go, but could only grab a glimpse of him holding a glinting blade to the binds on her wrists. 

Javier hissed at how loud the sound of tearing rope was. "Shit." 

She shook her head, "Don't. You'll get in trouble. Just leave it alone." 

His whisper carried a sort of defiant anger, "You said yourself that I should've done something. Now here I am, doing something." 

"Not if it means you'll face consequences. You're risking-." 

_"Cállate."_

Thea clenched her teeth as he began to work the knife faster, feeling some of the tethers drooping enough so she could turn her wrist. A wave of relief washed over as the tension eased slightly, but was instantly interrupted with a sharp gasp as a towering man with a swaying belly and a pointed repeater stomped over. 

"Hey!" He called, gruff voice ringing in her ears. "Just what do you think you're doing?" 

Javier came out from behind the tree with his arms outstretched, "Bill! How the hell are you?" 

The man growled, "We're under strict orders from Dutch not to engage. Tell me what you're doing before I report you." 

"Nothing... just," he looked over his shoulder at her and gave a small nod. She knew it well, one of compliance, "she told me she needs to... go." 

Both her and the man raised a questioning brow and frowned. "Go?" He said.

"You know, _go._ Like, behind a bush." 

If she had a free hand to slap across her forehead, she would've. 

Her eyes landed on Javier trying to signal her with his fingers behind his back. She groaned inwardly, but hey, they were already this far along. Plastering a pathetic smile she tried to cross her legs and nodded at the man holding the gun. 

He made a disgusted face then scoffed, "alright. Just be quick, I'm countin'." 

"We'll be back before you know it." 

Thea relaxed as the man stalked away and Javier went back to cutting the ropes off, much more faster this time. One by one the restraints slipped off and with each freeing inch of liberation she felt her breathing even out as her legs trembled from under her, making her slump to the ground onto her knees as she rubbed at her wrists once it all came off with a soft sigh. "God, that feels good." 

"Come on, we don't have much time." He came and reached for her hand, crisp cologne washing over her. She took it and staggered to her feet, faltering a few steps forward before regaining the little energy to push forward. They still ached relentlessly, but anything was better than being strapped to a tree. 

She didn't know how long it had been since she'd been the sole conductor of her movements. All the way back in the cellar 'till the doctors office then from there, until now. As much as she hated it, a part of her longed to make a break for it in this moment. Turn around and dip into the valley without an afterthought. 

But why was she so sure she wasn't going to get her gut filled with lead before she even made it two steps down the rocks? There were guns everywhere: laid against boxes, against people's backs, in their pockets, hell, even sitting beside them as they ate. There was no way she could do so, not with all their eyes trained on her like peering meerkats. 

Javier squeezed her hand in reassurance as they entered a pretty shaded area covered by trees and bushes, as well as a few yellow and white flowers dotting the grass. If anything, it looked like a perfect place for a picnic. She looked around, hoping this wasn't their actual place to go to the bathroom. 

He read her face and chuckled, "Don't worry. It's clean here." 

"Okay, so... what're we doing here?" She whispered, peeking over the leaves to see the back of all their tents. They were pretty well hidden and inconspicuous, but that didn't mean they weren't being watched. 

Javier suddenly stepped closer, gentle hands reaching around her shoulders and back to lift the poncho off with ease, as though it were a ritual. She swayed on her feet, hunger and thirst combining for a deadly and weakening combination. He placed the fabric back on himself before pulling a sack out of his pocket, and by the sound of its swishing, her throat burned with need. 

"Water." 

Thea snatched it and damn near punctured a hole into it with her teeth, gulping down like it was all she knew how to do. It was warm and the smell of beer lingered from the leather, but she didn't care. Her body buckled on itself and she went down to her knees once again and she drank until it drained the last drop. She almost cried at the relief, chest heaving from the intensity. 

Filtered sunlight landed on his brown eyes and they looked so sullen, so filled with pain. She got to her feet and took his hand, fingers intertwining with familiarity. "Thank you," she breathed, "thank you." 

He nodded, thumb stroking her skin. "Don't you wish we were back in Armadillo right now, listening to bad bar music...?" His voice came out in quiet mumbles as his gaze trailed over her, taking her sunken features in. 

She shrugged, "I think a beach in Mexico sounds better. With tequila and cigars." 

Javier stifled his smile, prompting another shift in his demeanor. His other hand grazed the pocket that contained the letter, and he frowned. "Are you really their last shot at capturing us? Before they send a whole damn army of detectives after us." 

Thea let her hand fall out of his and crossed her arms, nodding. "Yeah. At least, that's what I've been told. I don't know if others have been told the same thing." 

"But why you? I mean," He chuckled nervously at her raised brow, "why a woman?" 

"Been trying to figure that out myself, too. I think that maybe they were hoping I'd infiltrate your ranks and trick one of you into confessing." 

He shifted on his feet, "Wow..." 

She gave a defeated sigh, "going perfectly to plan, as you can tell." 

There's that pitiful look again, and there goes the bile rising in her throat. 

"You'll be fine. I'm here for you." 

Thea was about to give a snarky remark before a hard holler rang out and she froze, the same intruding thought of bolting making itself known. Her heart began to hammer, sweat gathering in her palms, mind screaming to do something. Do something. Run. Now's your chance. 

Javier stepped out from their cover, leaving enough space in-between the leaves for her to peer out. 

The man with the swaying belly and the repeater was pointing a fat finger at them—but it wasn't that which made her blood run cold—standing right beside him was the man himself, dressed like a varnished predator, draped in reds and blacks, gold chain glinting in the sunlight. As if on queue, those dark eyes landed on her and she recoiled into the bushes, trembling with fear. Fuck. 

Cliffs and mountains surrounded this camp, there wasn't a way out on foot that wouldn't land in a broken leg. She would tumble and hit herself on a rock, lights out. There's no way to sneak past them to get to the horses either, it was an open space with plenty of room to notice a bloodied, bruised woman trying to steal their rides. 

God there just wasn't a good outcome of this. No matter which route she took she would end up either pumped full of bullets or a shattered skull. 

Their footsteps approached and she thought she heard Javier gulp. 

Goddammit. 

"I told him not to, Dutch. That you said not to engage. He went n' took them ropes off anyway." The large man said. Damn, even he sounded nervous. This isn't good. 

It was the silence that scared her more than anything. The way she could hear the wind rustle in the trees before she heard either of them engage. 

Then, like a thunderclap, the voice rang out, and her chest fluttered with dread. 

"Thought I made myself clear, Javier. I never would've expected something like this, not from you." 

"I-.. it's my fault, Dutch. I'm sorry. She..-" 

"She, what?" 

The other man, large and dumb, broke in. "He told me she needed to go. But I was countin' Dutch, he was lying." 

"Alright, Bill. That's enough, thank you." 

Thea was tearing up blades of grass from the ground in anxiousness, not letting herself breathe too deep in fear of being found. 

"When I enforce something, I expect it not to be broken. You should know this better than anyone, son-" 

Javier's voice snapped like a twig. "Oh? Like you broke your promise to me? Remember, boss? I do." 

It came out gritty and graveled. "I haven't broken anything, dear boy." 

"You haven't? I'll refresh your memory, then. You swore to me no harm would come to her, and that once you got the information you needed she'd be free to go." 

"And I'll say it again, I haven't broken anything." 

"You call starvation and tying her up to a tree harmless?" 

"Had you kept a level head and listened to what I told all of you, that promise would've been upheld. But now, seeing this..." A shifty pause, "I fear I may have to take more drastic measures." 

"You wouldn't-" 

"Step out from there, woman. No use hiding." 

Thea felt like she was going to throw up. She kept breathing like there wasn't enough air in the world to sate her, shivering. She stood and stepped out, her eyes glued to the floor. She didn't want to look at Javier, she already knew the disdain on his face was going to send her reeling for a gun. Deep down, she's been through worse than this. Although her memory couldn't serve her in the exact moment, she just had to keep telling herself that she had to survive. To endure. To survive. 

He towered over her, ringed hands hooked to his pockets. If only she had something to take his life with: a dagger, a mallet, a shard of glass, even. Shit, if she tried hard enough she could choke him out with the same rope she was tied back with. Her fingers itched to grasp at something, but she forced them still. 

"Closer." 

"Dutch, what are you doing." Javier questioned, angered. 

Mud and tree bark lined her clothes, dried blood from her head shone brown on her collar, hair still damp from the rain. To call herself a mess would be an understatement. She stepped closer. 

"Look at me." 

Her breath stopped completely in her throat, fighting to return to the safety of her lungs. She was no longer in control of her actions, they were being ruled by his voice. His dark, hauntingly audacious voice. It swilled inside her thoughts and ruptured any notion of safety, of self-preservation. This wasn't being vulnerable, this was an entrapment of her entire being. 

She lifted her gaze. Her heart skipped beats from fear as soon as they registered his eyes boring leagues into her skin. They were shadowed over—a look she knew far too well—from years of dominance. It left marks on men, fed into their souls like a parasite, turning them into hosts of their worst nightmares. This wasn't the eyes of a leader, it was a man too deep to rescue. A rabid hound in need of putting down. A Goddamn beast who seeks out opponents in search of a challenge. 

A monster. 

His neck craned while he carried his gaze over her body, over her limbs and her torso and legs, slow enough to make it feel like she was burning from the inside out. The entire time she kept her eyes trained on his face, picking out details: the mark on his cheek, the glint of pomade in his hair, the arch of his brow. 

Dark eyes slowly traveled back up to meet her gaze, then narrowed suddenly. 

"..hold still.." He whispered. 

Then Dutch van der Linde swiped a thumb across her parted lips. 

She almost, almost lost it. 

Javier made a sound in his throat. 

"Turns out you are a liar, Mr. Escuella. And a terrible one, at that." 

His thumb glinted in the sunlight with moisture as he raised it to the sky—gathered the truth with a simple gesture. It terrified her to think if he tried to get the secrets out of her, what methods would he possibly try. 

"Dutch. Listen to me. She was thirsty, and I couldn't stand by and watch. I had to-" 

"Mr. Williamson, why don't you take the gentleman for a walk. I'll meet up with you soon." 

His shouts of protest were drowned out as he was pulled away, regret splashed in her throat. Dammit, she told him this wouldn't work out in their favor. He just had to go and be... stupid. 

Now they were alone, behind the tents, far from sight. Being tied up to that tree didn't sound so bad in this moment. 

Seeing him being treated like that sparked rage, heat spreading up her neck and ears. Does she dare elicit the animal standing before her? Is it worth adding her stick to the pyre? 

"Don't do anything you'll regret." It came out as a harsh whisper, even though she wanted to scream. 

"Mm... by your hand?" 

"Yes." 

His laughter rang in her ears like a booming drum, like she was standing in the middle of an orchestra. "Don't hurt him." 

"Oh you've painted such a disgraceful picture of me. Makes me wonder what sorts of stories you've heard." 

Thea licked her lips, tasting the remnants of his touch. He saw it happen, shadow of a smirk danced on his lips. "I'll tell you, if you keep your word." 

He chuckled. That's right, boost his fucking ego. 

"Me, striking deals with a bounty hunter. The very bane of my existence." There was a pause as he ran a ringed hand down his jaw. "Alright, I'll bite. I'll make sure no harm goes to your cowboy, even though he most certainly deserves it." 

"I'm gonna need food and water to tell you stories. No good if I'm dead." She was bargaining over fool's gold. Should she make one slip up, there would be worse punishments than death awaiting her. Boldness wasn't something she could risk. God, there had to have been something in that water. 

The smell of earthy cigars washed over as he took a step forward, now close enough to directly stand over her body, blocking out the sun. His voice rolled out, deep and slow. "You're walkin' on thin ice, miss." 

"Prove to me," she breathed, eyes never leaving his, "prove to me I was wrong for picking up your poster. Even though you know deep down I want to see you hanged." 

He made a rumbling sound in his chest, akin to a growl. 

_"Don't make me regret it."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok lets be real dutch was bluffing about hurting javier he just wanted to gauge her reaction. we ain't at that level of crazy yet ;)


	16. Into The Heartlands

_"I'm speaking to you as a woman- I.. I have no one. Please, I'm beggin' you, please don't do this!"_

Her serrated screams tore through the summer winds. Bruised arms clutching the head of a peering child to her chest, one hand tried to cover its eyes though it could not conceal that haunted, blank look that came with shattered innocence. 

The shack behind them groaned at the assault of a harsh breeze, bits of its straw-mottled roof flying off, revealing holes green with moss. An ashen mule brayed besides an empty trough, then ran a cracked muzzle down the sides. 

Dust and dirt covered her ragged dress as she slumped further to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably now, the movements of her body shaking the kid's feeble one. 

"You'll-," she sputtered, "you'll make an orphan of my boy. I- I can't take care of him on my own." 

Thea spit a bloody wad out. Licking her stinging top lip clean, gun trained on the back of the man's skull as he gasped out plumes of dust, heel digging in-between his shoulder blades. She lifted her gaze to study the darkening sky. Three hours ride back to town, she's making good time today. "I'm not the one making him an orphan." 

There was a stifled choke from the woman, but she only broke out into more sobs. 

"I'm sure there's a...church somewhere that can help you out. That's what you call it, right? A church?" Thea bent down to make sure the ropes were tight enough, wincing at a pronounced bruise forming on her thigh. She wiped a finger across her mouth to see that it was still bleeding, muttering a string of curses after the fact. 

"Please... _please._ Take my mother's wedding necklace. It's worth more than what they're givin' you for him. I'm begging you." 

She was holding it out to her, a string of pearls with a shiny little diamond in the center. The setting sunlight painted it pretty enough to make her head tilt in consideration. 

"Woman, don't you dare!" The man said, beads of sweat running down his neck and wetting his back. 

"Quiet, you. Rather this than seein' you hanged." 

Thea gave a hard tug to his ropes, earning a pained grunt. Rising to her feet, she came forward until she was a mere inches away from the woman's cowering frame. The boy was still pressed against her, now fiddling with a milkweed stuck to his mother's dress. Kneeling down, watching the hopeful glint of her eye, she smiled and curled the necklace back into her hands. "I don't barter my bounties. You want to trade? Get on that mule and leave, now. Three counts of murder, one being a little girl. Trade that necklace for a better life, not a poor excuse of a man." 

The second the woman's eyes glazed bitter and her lip trembled once more Thea knew all was lost for her and her kid. But what she wasn't expecting was the sharp flick of her wrist landing a burning slap to her face. 

She reeled backwards with a hiss, teeth clenched and burrowing into each other—rubbing the sting off her cheek, corners of her palm tinged red. She tasted iron shortly after, spitting it back out with a sniff. In a flash she had her gun aimed on her face, nostrils flaring as she huffed out what felt like smoke. A different sort of fury riled up in her chest as she met the woman's gaze, one of secret disappointment. _"Stupid._ " 

Her hands flew around her child and she buried her head between his neck and shoulders, so that when her gun went down to follow, it landed on the boy. His round, unsure eyes staring at the barrel with little reaction—a muffled whimper. 

Thea let herself look on longer before sighing abruptly, twirling the gun back into her pocket then moving back towards the restrained man. He was watching it all, and the second she got within earshot of his words they soaked into the air around her, filling it with threats of torture, of abuse, death. She gave one sharp kick to his side and they were cut with a cry, letting her get enough peace to whistle for her horse. 

"Keep talking and make it easier for me. I'll take less money for your dead body if I have to." 

He groaned, "dead man either way." 

"Then I won't bother putting you on the horse." 

\---

Over time she'd learned to ignore family's sorrowful gazes as their seemingly innocent fathers, sisters or sons were dragged off to meet the end of a rope, but she'd be damned if the sight of the boy's head being forced away from witness didn't make her stomach curdle. 

That final image of the two holding each other amidst the dust as the woman's sobs turned to howls, the sky grew dark and the sickly mule brayed one last time besides an empty trough stayed a little longer than the rest. 

He was hung two days after, Thea was there, she hated herself for searching for the boy's eyes in the midst of a jeering crowd. It brought a soft comfort to see that they weren't there, at least, not directly below the gallows. There was a certain smell that came from the wood, as though it were cut from cursed trees. 

She'd gotten her money and happened upon a jeweler's, a pristine pearl necklace catching her eye worth more than half of what she'd received for him. But she went ahead and bought it, wrapping it in newspaper and riding back out to the shack one hot evening. It was useless to try and pin the act as either regret or pity, it was definitely a mixture of the two. 

And now she stood there, in the same imprinted circle of the woman's torn dress and the boy's little feet, holding out a newspaper-wrapped necklace, staring blankly at a pile of burnt logs, the bones of a charred mule and listening to the empty silence that only pronounced the hammering in her chest.

Thea couldn't say whether it was the wind-carried embers or the echoic stillness, but she fell to her knees with a tattered breath. 

It would only hurt more to look for the bodies, yet somewhere in the little hope she held she'd imagined they left before this all happened. That the woman came to her senses and saved her and her kid's lives. 

This was a job, it's all it ever should be. She was a fool for coming here and thawing herself under a weight that could've been easily avoided. 

She remembered burying the newspaper right where they once sat, plucking one of the mule's bones and adjusting it on top of the mound so that it looked like a sort of flag. Should they ever... come back. 

He deserved his fate, they all did. In the eyes of justice debt has to be paid, nothing can tip the scale back up. Lives taken, lives given. It's all she knew now, no matter how heavy emotions play into it. 

It was a somber ride back. Thea dove headfirst into barrels of wine until thoughts became slow enough to halt and stars turned into eyes that searched for an answer she did not have. Like a plucked bird, she laid into the grass and spread her aching arms as far as they could go, all while singing songs she did not know. 

* * *

"And now, I ask you again, what separates you from _me? "_

Dutch crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, watching her reaction with clear focus. She was staring at the ground and her brows furrowed as though his words triggered a visceral memory. The first time he presented the question she looked so profoundly offended he almost let out a chuckle, like it was a mistake on his part for likening her—to him. God, the tales this woman must've heard, he wondered if she believed any of them. To the law-abiding people of America, he's a painted devil who's out to destroy the very angelic ideals of civilization, and bounty hunters, lawmen, and even the yellow-bellied O'Driscolls turned into their own messiahs to vanquish him and his gang of blasphemous misfits. But that's all he's heard, to someone like her, it could be a completely different scenario.

In the short time that she compiled her response, he studied her. The caked blood that carved rivers of russet down her neck, sweat gleaning on her jutting cheekbones and how her expression always seemed to form a constant look of menace. Like it was molded with time and with practice. Come to think of it, how did she make it this far? He'd always figured himself as a man who was one step ahead, but seeing her here, sat in front of him within his tent, made the threat of his downfall so much more plausible. 

He was about to give up when she blurt out suddenly. 

"Heidi McCourt." 

"..come again?" 

"You shot Heidi McCourt in the head during the Blackwater Massacre. An innocent woman caught in your crossfire." She looked up at him, eyes laced with rage.

Dutch licked his lips then pulled out a cigar from the nightstand, tapping it on the table to evenly spread its contents. He'd done it frequently enough that it was ingrained in his movements, swiftly bringing it to his mouth and lighting it with a flick of a match off his boot. A plume of earthy smoke filled the air and he watched her clench her jaw with a satisfied smirk. "Hmm...it pains me to say it, but that's true." 

"Then you have the nerve to ask what separates you and I." She spat, "I don't take lives to make a point." 

"You're right, what you do is much worse." 

"To the ones deserving." 

He dragged at the cigar, meeting her gaze through the smoke. Despite wanting answers to get ahead, a part of him now wanted to change her mind. That the world she was living in was one of lies spread by deceivers who did not lift their heads to see the truth. 

But it already seemed that her ideals were etched into the scars of her skin, and that no matter the efforts, she'd still be filled with hatred for his kind till death do her apart. He smiled. "And you're okay with this, this ruthless living that you so proudly consume?" 

She leaned back, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I don't get what you mean." 

Dutch nodded to himself, chuckling. "I'm only digressing on what you told me, miss. You, yourself, very adamantly spoke into open skies that you, 'snatch a criminals freedom the way no one else can'. So I ask-" 

Her hands flew to her stomach and she grimaced, tucking into herself with a groan. "If... you want anything more outta me I need..- I need food and water." She started to laugh amidst her pain, "won't be very useful starved." 

Leaning closer, he tilted his head with a scoff, "My goodness, you've gone white, my dear. Now I'm wondering if it's even worth it to keep you alive." 

A flash of fear went across her face and he reveled in it. The trail of smoke leaving his lips and falling on hers, like a chaste kiss of warning.

All the power he carried right now, it was blinding.

He held her eyes for a moment longer before moving away, rising out of the chair and making his way outside. A sly smile formed on his face as her sigh of relief wafted to his ears. Good, let her be absolutely terrified. 

It was a warm afternoon after a rainy morning, the sun was warming the dew off the grass and people were shaking the raindrops off their clothes. He caught sight of Molly sitting on a stump, scribbling away at a piece of paper. Her red hair seemed to glitter, emerald dress contrasting against the paleness of her skin. She looked back at him and flayed him open with a glare, opening her mouth as if to shout something, but he moved away before she could. 

Dutch heard a familiar angry drawl muttering by a ebony horse, "Arthur!" 

"Mornin'." The man responded, brushing out the brambles from the animal's mane. 

"I take it scouting Valentine went well?" He walked forward and leaned on the hitching post. 

Arthur went over a spot multiple times before grumbling and picking it out with his hands. He gave a one-shouldered shrug and clicked his tongue to keep the horse calm, "Yeah, I 'spose." 

"So we're ready to make our moves on the town, you think? I should send in Charles and Javier to kick somethin' up, then Strauss for his loaning?" 

"Don't know why yer askin' me. You do what you think is best, Dutch." 

"Is something wrong, son?" 

Arthur sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his rain-mottled hair. "No, nothing's wrong." 

Dutch stared at him for a moment longer then clapped his hands, "Well, good! 'Cause I've got a job for you." 

The man's blue-green eyes went past his shoulder and he let out a loud groan. "Aw, Dutch- no. No. I can't. I won't." 

He turned to see her stumbling out of his tent, still clutching her abdomen and looking like a cornered predator. She stopped in her tracks when she saw them conversing, casting her gaze down and isolating herself by moving back towards the tree she was tied to. 

Arthur had moved close enough to breathe in the smell of rain on his clothes, teeth clenched. "I don't get _why_ that woman's walkin' round free. Like she ain't out to kill us all. And here you are doin' favors." 

Dutch pushed him back with a finger, "You need to shut up and trust me. You don't think I know that? Listen," he halted the man's bristling protests, "take her into town, get her fed and washed, clothed too, if you can-" 

"I would rather shoot myself in the foot." 

"Shut _up_ Arthur, I mean it." 

"Forgive me for not sympathizing with a _killer._ Why can't you have Javier do all this shit, anyways? Not like he's got anything better to do." 

He turned to look at the man in question having a delighted conversation with Tilly, casting the occasional glance towards the bounty hunter. Dutch shook his head and lowered his tone, "It's not that I don't trust him, I just think he'd be easily persuaded to let her leave and I can't have that. Besides, I need him and Charles for something else." 

Arthur chewed on his lip, "Sometimes I wonder if you've truly lost it. We ain't got the time. I. Ain't. Got. The. Time." He scratched his chin, "should've gotten the information you needed by now so why don't you do us all the favor of-" 

"Valentine. Food, water, clothes. Get it done. That's an order." 

"Ahh dammit. Fine." He huffed, putting his hat back on low enough to barely see his eyes set underneath the rim. His voice dropped to a growl and he angled his chin towards the horses, the sway of his shoulders pronouncing his inconvenience. 

Dutch watched her rise and strut past both him and Arthur, cooing to a massive white stallion like it was a lost kitten. He scoffed, but couldn't help straining his ears to hear her whispering sweet nothings against the horse's neck. Nose scrunching in meddling confusion, trying to make sense of what he was witnessing.

Not a moment after she slipped a foot in the stirrup he called out, "You're takin' the wagon. Pick up some supplies for us too. Arthur, tell-." 

"Hey! Get in the Goddamn wagon!" He barked.

Everyone's attention was now on them: Dutch with his arms crossed and eyes rolling, Arthur with his stomp and balled fists, and the woman with her sneering lip and slicing glare. Does she think this is all a game? It was as if she forgot that in a split second she could be greeting the receiving end of a bullet. Either that, or she was purposefully playing dumb. To lower their expectations and their guards, to seem like a meek little lady who has no clue that she's in the midst of murderous outlaws. So perfectly readable.. yet not at all. 

This was a challenge of firsts, and he'd be damned if he'd let a bounty hunter run circles around him. Play her game, and beat her at it. 

"And Arthur," He whistled. 

The cowboy looked back over his shoulder, so did she. 

"If, at any point, she tries to run: don't hesitate to _shoot 'er_ _._ " 

* * *

"Gladly, Dutch." 

Thea took a sharp breath, watching him pat his holster, sharing a smile with Van Der Linde. Her skin felt like it was set alight, and when he turned around she was met with his bestial gaze. They looked at each other for a moment, each taking the other in for the first time in days. Then, as quickly as it happened, they separated. She remembered that night in the cellar, first laying eyes on him at the flicker of a lighter, wanting to reach out and dive in, but now, after all he's done, it'd be best if her blade dove instead of her. 

Her hand reached flew to her side and gripped at the pocket where her knife once was, instead grabbing a fistful of her rain-soaked shirt. 

"Get in the wagon." He murmured, taking hold of her arm and pushing her forward, earning a grunt. She grimaced at the smell of thawing flesh, noticing the wet outline of a body drying in the sunlight. A chill ran down her neck. 

He went to check the horses after she got on, tightening the reins and giving a reassuring pat to their necks, muttering something akin to an apology. Thea rolled her eyes and settled on the seat, holding herself steady against the wood, disregarding the newfound splinters chipping into her skin. 

Clambering on, he clicked his tongue and they were off, exiting the shaded comfort of Horseshoe Overlook and traversing into the open afternoon plains. God, it had to have been days since she'd seen anything besides their ugly faces. If anything, she was glad to be away from their pointed conversations and shifty glances. Angling her back to the open air, she took in a breath deep enough to hurt. Her rib's sensitivity was still there, painfully blocking her lungs' freedom, but better than before. 

Dappled sunlight danced on her skin and warmed patches of her face like peppered kisses, a gentle breeze ruffled her hair and brought a shadow of a smile to her lips. Critters darted out from the wheels, a hawk cried out overhead. She felt her heart suddenly jump to life with excitement—the first good feeling in a while. It was only when they emerged from the trees could she truly appreciate the landscape. 

Thea let her jaw gape in awe. Cliffs that looked to be carved by gigantic beasts gave way to golden-green hills and grasslands that rolled as far as the eye could see. Every part of it teemed with life: from the meager blade of a fern to the regal magnitude of the stones. All of it held such a grandeur, such a kindling repose that the only thing she wanted to do was sit and admire with reverence. This wasn't the soul-sucking desolate deserts nor the famine-ridden plains that she'd traversed. This was... God, this was..-

"Stop leanin' over the side or you'll slip n' break your neck."

His gruff voice sliced her thoughts clean through, and that didn't seem to be enough for him, the idiot actually reached a hand out to try and pull her back, to which she caught his wrist with a scowl. "Watch it, cowboy. Make another wrong move and I'll pop your other knee." 

It suddenly grew quiet enough to hear the quickening pace of her heartbeats. Shit. 

He wrenched himself away and pulled on the reins fast enough to make both her and the wagon jolt. In a swift motion he crossed the space between them and grabbed her collar, his face painted different hues of pink and red. "You're makin' it this easy, huh? huh?" He leaned close, the smell of saddle wax drifting around her, growling, "I don't have the patience, so give me a reason..- to tell 'em you tried to run off." 

Only then did the reality of it all set in. His holster flashed into view and so did the iron of his gun, a warning. 

Had it not been for the starvation or the blood loss, she would've ended him right there. She found her breath catching—consciousness waning—so much so that she instinctively reached up and gripped at his shoulder to center herself. Fingernails digging into the leather of his jacket, gasping lightly. His eyes went round then sharpened, giving a dismissive grunt and releasing her.

The reins snapped and they were pulled forward, her vision dotting. Outlines of buildings came into view as she readjusted herself to look like she wasn't being held hostage. Yet, unfortunately, with a town like Valentine, she looked perfectly passing as a working girl after a rough night. It was either the thought or the emptiness in her stomach that brought nausea, but now even the movements of the wagon felt like she was out at sea again. Her hand gripped harder along the wooden sides and she tried to focus on the splinters to ease herself. 

His eyes were on her again and his lips parted as though to say something, but he was cut off by a familiar shout calling from behind. 

"Hey! Slow down!" 

"Christ... what now." 

A hand slipped into hers without warning, releasing her hold on the wagon, and she looked down to see a chipper grey and white horse along with its chipper rider looking up at her. Another man trotted up as well, sunlight catching in his dark hair as he gave her a curt nod. 

Javier stroked her hand with his thumb, smiling expectantly. Thea pulled away from his touch and scowled. "What are you doing?" 

Hurt flashed across his eyes but was quickly replaced with amusement, "I'm here to make sure that big brute doesn't bother you." He cocked his head to the side and grinned. She rolled her eyes but said nothing, and honestly, she didn't have the energy to. 

The other man interrupted, "Not quite. Dutch just sent us out to kick something up in town. We just happened upon you, Arthur." 

"I appreciate your honesty, Charles. As for Casanova, you can go to hell." 

Javier laughed. 

Thea felt herself begin to shake, licking her dry lips. 

"Y'all comin' with?" The wagon driver asked. 

"Sure, we'll stay behind you." 

She slumped in her seat and her breathing slowed, the sounds of the town reaching her ears. The braying of contempt animals mixing with the grumbled chattering of contempt men filled the air. The smell of manure and whiskey and hay laced with sweat seemed to drift around like clouds. Guns glinted from belts and backs and hands. People smiled and shouted and ate and drank. Welcome to Valentine.

And here she was, with nothing but the skin of her teeth to defend herself. 

Another wave rolled through her frame, Thea's arms flew around her stomach and she grimaced. It was a distinct gnawing she was familiar with, but this time it felt as though it returned with a vengeance. 

Food, she needed fucking food. It'd been hours since she drank water but she felt herself yearning for that, too. She had the good sense not to jump out of the wagon and bolt into the nearest store, but even if she didn't and the man's bullet landed, nobody would bat an eye. Exercising patience was never one of her strong suits, and neither was being selfless enough to hold back. 

The wagon slowed besides the stables, she saw Javier and the other man hitch their horses next to the saloon and enter, deviant confidence plastered in their movements. 

She stumbled off with a groan, feeling the weakness ripple through her like waves. She had to steady herself once again, leaning her back on the side of the wagon and taking deep, slow breaths. 

A man was polishing a mahogany saddle right outside the stables, forearms coated in the sharp-scented wax. Stable-hands drifted to and fro the horses, engrossed in their work. If she could just run up to them, just one, all it would take was a 'please mister' to rid all that ails her. She would start to wail and lapse onto one of their chests, begging for security, for safety. The idea sounded almost plausible, almost enough to conduct. 

But like many others, this was a town of yellow-eyed coyotes. A town where she would be saved from one man then given to another. 

Her gaze flitted back to him, straightening his jacket from where she crumpled it up, muttering incoherently. For some reason, they hadn't resorted to the forms of torture she was expecting. Sure, being tied up to a tree was harrowing enough, but there was a sort of kindness... somewhere. She'd felt it when Van Der Linde pulled the chair out for her in his tent, felt it when Javier brought water to her lips, and felt it again when this one tried to pull her back from falling. 

All their actions carried their inverses, and fortunately for her they held deeper notches in her mind. Whatever sick game this was, she had to persevere. 

Thea studied him, catching the way his hooded eyes encircled the town, as though he were sizing up everyone against himself. Had it not been for the sour ties, she might've asked him why. 

"Food?" She called, splintering his attention back to her. He rolled out a sigh and pointed at a building with his chin, beginning to stride towards it. 

As they were walking she turned back and saw Javier through the saloon window, hand slinked around a woman's waist, that familiar devious smile leaning close to her ear. Thea scoffed outwardly, fighting back a chuckle. Strange how quickly she was taken back to that night in Armadillo. 

He was already by the door when she got there, impatiently puffing at a cigarette. A sign caught her eye when she entered the hotel: the menu, of course, but also a little note written in chalk. 

Bath. Fifty cents. 

God, heaven in words. 

She looked at the clerk who looked at him, waiting for his call. 

He shot her an irritated glance, "yer' fine. Don't need a wash." 

"Are you kidding? I look like I've been mauled by a bear." 

"...so?" 

Thea clenched her teeth, "this isn't your call to make, cowboy. Sticking your head in a barrel doesn't count as a bath." 

"Oh, I'm sorry the prissy little princess hasn't had her pamperin'. Need me to scrub your feet, _ma'am?"_ He sneered.

"You wish, idiot." 

"Pff- 'rather get colic." 

"Ha. Good. That'll make your ass loose enough to stick my foot-" 

_"Madam!_ Please!" The clerk jolted, catching both of their attentions. Her ears burned at the realization that others were listening—hands over their mouths and eyes wide—clearly lost in her anger. 

She pulled fifty cents from her pocket and slammed it on the table, the last bit of money that wasn't looted from her. "I'll take a bath, please." 

The clerk jotted something down, glanced between them and nodded towards the end of the hall. Thea huffed entered the darkening hallway. Heavy footsteps following only made her whip back around to see him trailing with an irritated look on his face. "The hell you doing?" She hissed.

He scowled, "Calm down. I'll be by the door." 

"Don't be stupid, I don't want-" 

"No. You don't be stupid. My only job is to make sure your slippery ass doesn't run off." 

"What, you're gonna shoot me in a hotel bath room?" Her arms flew up, accusatory. 

"If I have to. You heard Dutch." 

That, she did. The darkness in his voice when he rolled it out, too. She's familiar with the shadowed glare that eclipses over one's eyes when they intend to kill you, something clicks into place, and stays. Recognizing it came with time, of course, but now, it's like being in a room with a single candle and watching it snuff out. Any and all regard is tossed aside, and it only takes moments before a gun lands between your eyes or a fist. 

Only, it wasn't there with Van Der Linde. There was no candle to even peek through, it was as terrifying as it was vexing. 

There was no point in looking for it with this one, either. It dripped in his voice. 

Steam trickled through the threshold, wrapping around her ankles. Thea opened the door and felt her cheeks soften with moisture, beads of wet soothing the cracks of her lips, and the warm glow kissing her skin alive. She rushed in and shut the door behind her, almost falling to her knees, counting the glittering bubbles spilling over the ivory edges of the bathtub. God, she could cry. Her sapped muscles began to writhe against each other while she struggled to peel her clothes off, flinching at the sight of her bareness. 

Now alone, away from their infiltrating eyes, she could feel. 

It wasn't the grime, nor the smell. She cupped a hand over her mouth and let out a choked sob at the sight of the indented _grooves,_ the way her stomach and thighs and legs were slinked with stripes of white burns. Free from their confines, they now seemed to hiss in the open air. The pain became so immense that she collapsed to the floor, clutching the sides of the tub, and dipping her fingers into the steaming water in an attempt to distract. It just hurt so much. 

They're doing this to her, they're marking her for her own death, it needn't be from their hands. She wanted to fill her lungs with steam until it tore her apart. 

Her cries came out in jagged breaths, like a gutted animal. 

* * *

Arthur sucked his cigarette hard enough to cut the flame, he knew it was going to, but still grumbled when it did. Damn the stupid cigarette, damn the air being too moist, damn the stupid hotel, damn the idiot woman for making him suffer through this, and damn Dutch for... for-

He sighed, wandering away from the door. A heated conversation between two men caught his attention, besides the fact that they were dressed like two show ponies fighting over who gets the blue ribbon. In a feat of surprising agility, he turned his head to the side and pretended to study the menu, all while leaning his shoulders to their words. His best move. 

Gathering something about some misplaced bets, Arthur kept count every time he heard the word 'money' and just went from there. The more they kept saying it, the more he felt his mood lifting. Today may not be a complete waste of time after all. 

He was so preoccupied in it that he completely disregarded his station, thumbs hooked in his belt, he went to play his card. 

"Hey there, fellers!" 

* * *

Thea's sob caught in her throat when light knuckles rapped against the door, fear pooling in her stomach. Shit. _Shit._ He was going to come in and see her bare form slumped against the ground, and if he chose not to pop a bullet in her skull in that moment then she didn't know how to pick herself back up. 

Her clothes were out of reach, flung across the room, and it would be useless to grab for them now: the knob was turning. 

Tears streaked down her face, soot clung to her skin, and she smelled like rain-soaked ropes. Her hands hovered over her head in a weak attempt for salvation, expecting a deep growl of disgust. 

Imagine her shock to hear a feminine gasp ring out and a silk touch wrap around her shoulders with a warmth so unfamiliar it sent zaps down her spine. 

_"Oh dear, oh goodness. Come here, sweetheart let me help you. It's alright now, it's alright."_

She was so gentle, honey in her voice. Her arms helped Thea lift off the ground and sink into the bathtub, shushing softly at her whimpers. The water welcomed her like kin, and although it burned, the immediate relief that followed was one pent up for weeks. She felt her senses dull. 

The silence was deafening as the woman's fingers trailed down the rope marks. She reached back over and grabbed the sponge, running it along her back and letting soap spill over the grooves. Embarrassment ran her ears hot at the sight of the water turning murky—it made her feel revolting. 

_"Tell me, the man who was standing outside the door, did he do this to you?"_

Thea brought her head up from between her knees, "No. No, he didn't." 

_"And, and these bruises?! You can talk to me, sweetheart. Working as a bath-girl here has its perks, I can tell the clerk to call the sheriff on 'im."_

She felt herself go rigid, "It- it was just a bad night. Nothing more to it.." 

Woman to woman, they placed their shattered secrets like wounded birds in a stuffed cage. Thea was reminded of a hot afternoon staring into the eyes of another wounded woman, and remembered how she only felt remorse until after hearing the snap of her husbands neck. 

A hand came down and caressed her hair, freeing it of it's tangles. _"I don't think he saw me come in, was talking to two fellers in the lobby. I heard you cryin' and..."_

The woman carried on, into a ramble about her day and the troubles she was facing, all while scrubbing the muck away. Her circular motions set Thea into a trance, a daydream of what could've been. 

Take her hand, tell her you're being held captive. Press your fingernails into her skin and plead, plead with your meager life that those burns aren't from nights but days on end. Tell her you're starving, you're thirsty, you're hurt, you're afraid. There was nowhere to go, nobody to seek refuge with, but maybe if there was a room here...- 

_"Christ you're shaking, dear. Are you sure you don't want me to tell someone?"_

Please, oh please don't make this harder than it already is.

"I'm sure." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 otw


	17. Into The Heartlands Pt. 2

Arthur angled his neck to look out the hotel window through the mottled glass if he could find Charles and Javier in the saloon. A huff escaped him when he spotted them chatting up two giggling girls—their boyish smirks transcending through time, enough for him to remember parading that same face—once. The corners of his mouth twitched at the memory. 

"As I was saying, gentlemen, we've got to come to an agreement sooner or later, my spurs' catchin' rust over here!" He turned back to them with a throaty laugh, clapping one of the men on the shoulder. 

"You say you're a retired race coach, Mister..?" They looked to him. 

"Uh..- Bernard." 

"Right, Mr. Bernard. Now, pray tell, what do the rules say about accusing another man of winnings theft?" 

"I earned those checks fair and square. My horse beat yours by the neck, you paid off that referee and you know it." The man's squeaked and overly-refined English made Arthur's ears ring, but he bit through it cause these two fools bickering over horse race winnings sang sweeter music. 

"Look," the other smoothed out his suit, "those winning checks are sitting in my hotel room, in a titanium safe with a code _only_ I know, I head back to Saint Denis in two days time once I settle buying a new racehorse here... you think you earned them? I give you the freedom to try and get 'em."

Arthur laughed, this was just too damn easy. 

The accuser bristled, "oy, you proper arse, I'll get those checks _and_ buy up your new racehorse before you can take another shot at cheating me again." 

"Pfft, here, I'll help you out, Room 2B, in case you couldn't find it." 

They stared at each other for a moment longer before stomping away in a fashion Arthur could only pin as... refined? They thanked him for his help, of course, at dispelling the tension. 

He had to hide his excitement from the hotel clerk, giving a curt nod while turning on his heels to stalk back to the bathrooms. Damn, think of how much those checks are worth, especially coming from a place as prissy sounding as 'Saint Denis', the way it rolled off their tongues: foreign. 

He let his gaze trickle through the parlor, trying to see if he could spot the room before he could make any plans on breaking into it. 

A ball formed in his throat when his eyes landed on the swinging door of the bath-room, steam pouring onto the carpet hallway. Oh, shit. 

She's escaped, must've ran right past him as he was talking, probably out and away miles from here. Goddamnit, she's gone. Christ, what as he going to say? Gee, sorry Dutch, you told me to keep an eye on your valuable little runt of a bounty hunter and what did I do? Let her slip outta my sight 'cause I was too damn bored standing around. My bad Dutch, for tightening the noose on all our necks. 

Sure, he'd fucked up before, and gotten his ass handed to him for it, but this...

Arthur ran a hand across his jaw and from the force of his anger he damn near tore off hair from his beard. No wait, he did, and it stung. 

Before he could reach the room to try and look for any clues, a barely-clad woman rushed out and shoved him backwards, her hands wet and laced with soap, smudging his coat. 

"Just what do you think you're doing mister?! Can't you see she's still naked?? Lord, the nerve of you, get _back!"_

In the midst of it all: the woman sputtering out curses, nosy fellers hearing the word 'naked' and wringing their necks out, thoughts backpedaling, he saw her. 

Sitting there in the tub, bare. Her arms clutching each other, head submerged, only thing visible being her shoulders and some of her back, but... 

It could've been the light playing tricks on him, forming all those pink, swollen rivulets across her skin. That's what he thought of at first, a trick in the light, but... 

They looked like they simmered. Burns, from the rope he tied around her. He could see the familiar indents, saw it on himself plenty of times, just looked so much more raw on her though. 

And that was it, the moment ended. The door slammed in his face and he was left staring at nothing. 

Something cold made itself known in his chest, quiet enough to be ignored, and he didn't fault himself for choosing so. It wasn't his job to feel, it was men like Javier who loved to set their soft little hearts alight. They would grow addicted to it too, never giving themselves any room to breathe before they go striking the match once more at the sight of fluttering lashes and honeysuckle smiles. 

To hell with feeling, a part of him now wished she'd actually gotten away. He'd rather face Dutch's disapproving scowl compared to looking her in the eyes while knowing what he'd seen. 

God, if only he could go back to the day Javier proposed the idea of robbing the home in Strawberry, he would've slapped the fool across the face and told him 'No'. Then he wouldn't be here, none of this bullshit would've gone down. He'd be in that saloon across the road downing whiskeys 'till the sun came up. 

While Arthur was in the middle of musing about his past choices, the washwoman came back out with a piece of paper and was waving it in his face, "Eyes up here cowboy, I've got a job for you." 

"Look ma'am, I ain't her errand boy, I'm just-" 

"Oh, I know who you are. And the sheriff will know who you are if you don't do what I'm telling you, understand, son?" 

What the..- He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "Excuse me?" 

The woman pulled out a pen and scribbled down a list, "you're lucky she don't wanna rat you out. I've had it with men like you, and trust me, if it were up to me, you'd be in shackles already." 

Hah, like she had a choice. He almost said it with a grin, but opted to keep quiet. The paper was stuffed into his hand and he was ushered into movement with a push, "Go give that to the man at the general store and tell 'im that Gracie-Mae sent ya." 

"But I-" 

"Get goin'." 

Arthur frowned, seeing that there was no way to even attempt to get out of this, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stomped out the hotel. He was met with a cold breeze and a darkening sky, the promise of rain lingering in the air. 

Being in the open like this, in a town that he'd only scouted from atop a hill, he felt exposed. That somewhere lurking in-between the buildings, someone was waiting for him to make the wrong move. That is, if he already hadn't. Madam Gracie-Mae and her shopping spree could've been a party trick to make a quick escape. Christ, it's just one dumbass mistake after the other. 

Stepping out onto the muddy road, still freshly slick from the morning's downpour, he stumbled his way onto the deck of the general store, grumbling at the chill on his earlobes. The heel his boots clacked on the moisture-soaked wood, and upon entering the smell of newly cut cigars and paper-wrapped meats welcomed him before the red-cheeked man standing opposite from him. "Afternoon, mister. I haven't seen you before, you new to town?" 

Arthur nodded, basking in the abundance. Food, smokes, hunting gear, little slots of ammo, and rows of clothing all gathered in one place. This wasn't his first time in a store, mind you, it's just ever since that damn mountain he missed taking the time to appreciate abundance. 

"Well, what can I help you with today? The butcher just dropped off some freshly salted meats, ham and venison. One twenty five each." 

Phew, crazy how sweeter things sounded when you're broke. If he wasn't running supplies for the camp, he would've tossed all those meats into his bag right now. 

"Aah, maybe some other time. Actually I've got somethin' for ya." 

"Oh?" 

He slid the paper across the desk, "from Gracie-Mae at the hotel." 

The man brought it close to his face, eyes ticking down the list and mumbling a 'yes' or 'no' every so often. Arthur watched with a pressed brow and rhythmically tapped his fingers, waiting. 

"Hmm... I've only got about half of what she wants. My store ain't exactly tailored to uh..- women's needs." The man said, shrugging. 

"What is it exactly, that she wants?" He bent his torso forwards. 

"Lady clothes, a hair comb, a hunting knife aaaand... scented lotion. I barely got small men's clothes, I have the comb, lotion and knife-" 

"Uhh, scratch the knife for me partner. Gracie-Mae don't need that." He rumbled. 

On the turn of a dime the man got defensive, cocking his head, "And she told you this after she wrote it down for me?" 

Arthur blinked, remembering the woman's threat if he didn't comply. Shit. He just sighed, shaking his head while the man set to work placing the smaller items in a bag, "is this gonna cost me?" 

"No. Not for Gracie-Mae." 

They stared each other down, lasted for longer than he'd liked, trying to ignore the ever-growing thought of this whole sequence turning out to be a ruse. 

"Now, why don't you go pick out the clothes while I finish up here." The man flicked his eyes towards the corner of the store. 

Sucking air through his teeth, he sauntered over to the racks, frowning. Goddamn shopping for the woman out to wrap a noose 'round his neck? Shit was just plain embarrassing. Besides, the hell does he know about the clothes she wears? The only thing he's seen her in was that green shirt after having to unbutton it to gauze the _other_ injury he caused the night at Strawberry. Javier probably would be better at this... pompous bastard... 

People drifted and about the store, throwing questioning glances his way. For what else could be as interesting as a burly man looking so tragically stressed towards a clothing rack? He swore there was someone chuckling in the corner. 

Huffing, he grouped the shirts into the ones he'd most likely see women wearing. All the girls at camp wore them flowery dresses, but ain't nothing like that here... maybe that yellow striped one? 

Hmm, pulling that lovely piece out of a bag and having her walk around camp like a kerosene lamplight would be pretty damn hilarious. Shit, it'd be payback for all the crap he's dealing with now. The only question was being the time and place where she'd gut him with her brand new knife. 

Seriously considering it, Arthur ran a finger across the fabric, noting how broad the shoulders were stitched and the fact that it was actually a size larger than what _he'd_ normally wear. Ah, damn it. 

A dark purple one hiding behind the rest finally caught his eye. Colored like an eggplant, or _aubergine_ as Trelawny's voice cut into his thoughts. Not too big, and ugly enough. It'll do. 

He picked up a pair of denim jeans and socks, dropping them off at the counter as the man bagged them up along with the rest. With a curt nod, the paper was slid back over to him. "Make sure to tell Gracie-Mae I wish her well. See you 'round." 

"Oh, and I've got a wagon out by the stables that needs some stock." He pulled out a wad of bills and gave it to him, "the basic stuff, I'm sure you know." 

The man nodded and set to work. 

Clutching the bag close to his chest, Arthur left the store and was met with a light drizzle. He had to wait for the road to clear of wagons and riders before doing a half-run-half-walk maneuver to get back to the hotel, pushing through the doors. 

* * *

Thea traced a vein-like crack on the lip of the bathtub, taking long and heavy breaths. She'd been here for almost an hour now. The rope burns eased off a bit, but still sent her keening if she made the wrong move too fast. It'd be a lie to say soaking this long wasn't nice, but, she couldn't help the fervent clawing in the back of her mind that kept telling her that this whole thing was a mistake. He's gone, grabbed his buddies and made a run for it. The washwoman kept reassuring her that he'd gone to the general store, even swore that she watched him walk into the doors with her own two eyes. 

But why the hell would he even do that? How is this serving him in any way? There had to have been some cash involved, cause otherwise that man would rather stick a bullet in her skull than spend his time picking out shirts. 

She was about to get out and grab her ragged old clothes, but the sudden and heavy knock sent her curling backwards. No, it can't be him. Probably some poor fool whose been waiting for an hour to get a bath. 

The woman gave her a reassuring smile, opened the door and slipped out. She caught a glimpse of his buckskin jacket and the gravel of his voice, before the door was shut and she was left wondering in silence. 

What felt like hours passed, tapping her fingernails on the tub, holding herself perfectly still. 

When the door opened back up, he wasn't standing there, and in came a massive brown bag that jostled its contents as it was set down on the floor. The woman huffed, "well now dearie looks like I've got a few things for ya here. Why don't you towel yourself off while I get things ready." 

Thea gathered all her hair in her fist into a makeshift ponytail and slowly rose to her feet, holding her breath as zaps of pain shot across her skin. "Oh God." 

"Easy now, try to not stretch yourself out too much. Take the lotion and rub it across the burns, it's made of mint." 

She barely lifted a leg before crying out, almost losing her balance. Through second-by-second movements was she able to finally get both her feet out the tub, water running down the grooves. Trailing down like streams carved into a mountainside.

Picking up the towel, she tenderly patted herself down, hissing now and then when she had to reach behind, denying help from the woman with a shake of her head. 

The woman brought her the little canister of lotion, cracking it open with a pop, the familiar smell wrapping around her like an old friend. She tipped her nose into it, breathing the way she used to with the doctor during those long days of recovery. Tears sprung into the corner of her eyes, but she chose to fault it on the scent. 

Taking a generous dollop, she spread it across her skin, blowing at it to speed up the process. 

She turned back to her, taking her in. Crescent wrinkles around her mouth, greying hair that complimented her tired eyes. "I can't thank you enough for your help. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't-" 

"Nonsense, dear. You're stronger than you think." 

Those words hurt. They cut deeper than rope would even dare go. But she knew she'd break down into a blustery mess if she thought about it further. She just returned the woman's smile and took her hands with a sniff. "I'll find you again one day, when I'm free, and buy you your freedom too." 

A soft laugh rang out from her, "Oh that's very kind of you, dear. But I do this because of girls like you, I try to help them as best I can. Now, enough of this sappy stuff, go n' try on the clothes!" 

Thea flicked her gaze to the bag sitting on the chair, approaching it as though it contained a wild animal, gingerly opening the flaps to reveal what was inside. Her face knit in confusion and her lips parted, reaching in and pulling out the shirt. 

"Purple??" 

"My... goodness. Well, unfortunately I had no say in that one. That was all the feller outside." 

"Oh, was it now?" She glared at the door, nostrils flaring. 

The woman shrugged, "We work with what we got." 

She knew she was in no place to be picky, but the sheer contrast of the blue jeans and the dark purple shirt made her sick to her stomach. Hey, she's being held hostage and has more rope burns than a bronco but nobody said she had to look like a circus clown. Damn...

With an irritated sigh she carefully buttoned up the shirt and rolled on the pants, finding her black suspenders and boots, desperately trying to make the outfit work. Maybe if she rolled up the sleeves... no now she looks like a colorblind ranch-hand. How about tucking the shirt in...? That looks better than before. Now fold the collar... hmm...

Somehow, someway she managed to look alright. Passing for a sane person with a small sense of style. 

"Did he bring the knife like I asked?" 

"When you asked for that one I didn't think you was gonna get it, to be honest. But I'm glad you have some protection now." 

The woman handed it to her: basic wooden handle with its steel blade. Nothing like her old one that cost about ten of these, probably tossed into an outhouse somewhere. She tucked it into her pocket. 

The rest was sort of a blur, the anxiety of having to step outside again sent her blood cold. Her hair was combed, and run with a towel to get somewhat dry before another heavy knock almost sent her reeling back into the tub. Crazy how in a matter of less than an hour that damn bathtub had turned into her safehouse. 

"Hurry. Up." Came his rumble. 

Back into the unknown, back into his line of sight, out of the comfort of this small room. It was nice to relax for a short while and breathe, but now reality kicked back harder than ever before. 

With a farewell hug, the woman whispered some words of wisdom, promised that she'd always have a room here if she needed it, and finally, to be safe. Thea bit her lip to stop from crying. 

The door was opened, the heat let out, the same blatant disregard returning as her eyes landed on him. He passed his gaze over her once, then drifted outside with a huff. She forced herself not to look back into the room, feeling the knife press into the skin of her thigh, running a hand through her drying hair and following outside. All she could do was hope for the woman's safety, 'cause God knows it's not guaranteed. 

It was raining, hard. He was surveying the town, standing beneath the overhang. "You wasted enough of my damn time." 

She said nothing, only outstretched a hand to feel the way the rain battered against her skin, grounding. 

He scratched at his cheek then pushed past her, almost disappearing into a crowd of bustling people, the only tell being the black sway of his hat. 

They got back to the wagon, now fully loaded with wooden crates and potato sacks and cartons of food, barely any room to sit besides the front. He told her to get on while he led the horses towards the saloon, hitching them right outside as she caught sight of Javier and the other man, unmoved from over an hour ago, casually chatting up the women. 

"Now, I'll be watching you. If you move your ass from that seat I'll set the whole goddamn town after 'ya." He pointed a finger. 

Thea groaned and slouched further into the 'seat', more like a straight wooden slab. "And if I don't you're bringing me a whiskey for my troubles." 

"No I ain't." 

"mmm... then I'm leaving and setting the whole goddamn town after _you_." She smirked, trying to downplay the intense pain every time her calves rubbed against each other. 

The pointed finger turned into a wagging fist, but he gave up and stomped inside, making sure to slam the batwing doors to capitalize his anger.

Evening's darkness spilled into the sky, people scrambling to get out of the rain as it beat down on Valentine, wind strong enough to bother the horses. 

She snorted—crossing her arms—left to herself once more.

* * *

"You have a fine way with the women, amigo." 

"Yeah, a real dandy and a charmer." 

They watched the girls disappear into the crowd of men, Arthur downing the rest of his drink. 

Charles was appreciating the music, tapping his foot along before he suddenly frowned, "wait, did you leave the girl outside, in the rain?" 

Javier followed his gaze, "the fuck's wrong with you?" 

"What, you expect me to board 'er up in a hotel room?" He shrugged, waving the bartender down. 

"Arthur, she's using an apple sack around her head." 

"Ahh hey look Bill's here." He tipped another whiskey into his throat and ignored them. 

* * *

Thea had ran out of curses and was just making incoherent grumbling sounds as thunder called overhead. The horses were getting shifty and kept pawing at the ground no matter how much she tried to soothe them. The sack had kept her clothes and the water actually rolled off the sides, the only nuisance being the wind that brought stray droplets from beyond. 

She'd crunched through two and a half apples, and couldn't remember the last time apples had ever tasted this good. 

It was a sorry sight to see the poor girls being treated like that, at least, as far as she could tell. His back was turned to the window as he was degrading them, neck jerking forward like a rabid hound.

She tossed the remaining half of the third apple to the ground and watched as one of the horses practically licked it up. 

"There's a good hors-" 

Smashed glass. A disrupted piano. Screams from women and men. People running out, people running in. The sound of skin hitting skin in thick slaps resounded through the saloon. Chairs and tables toppled over. She couldn't see anything, it was all a blur and it was too loud to focus. 

What's going on? 

A fucking bar fight. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Javier being grappled by a man damn near three times the size of him, landing punches to his gut and face. Her hand flew to her pocket, fingers digging into the denim of her jeans. 

He's gonna get fucking killed. He can't take that guy and no one's helping. Why isn't nobody helping? How the hell did this happen...?

Javier kept taking punches but couldn't return any. A chair flew out from the window she was staring through. The horses were trying to back up and run and she was swaying on the wagon, searching for a way in. 

In a flash of buckskin and blue the larger man had a bottle smashed over his head and let go of Javier with a groan. People kept shouting, kept running, a crowd began forming outside, she turned and saw deputies coming down the street. 

Another window crashed hard enough to send glass flying straight for her, sticking to the wagon like arrows.

Thea ducked, grabbing the reins in the process and pulling to restrain the horses. Should she make a break for it? There's enough supplies here for two weeks, nobody would notice her leaving...

She lifted her head to see that the fight had moved outside now, between two of them. 

_"Kick him in the sack!"_

_"Go for the gut!"_

_"Beat pretty boy's ass!"_

The crowd had grown to the size of a small village, everyone either jeering or booing, laughing or crying. All these sounds sent her mind reeling, clambering to her feet to try and see, the familiar twist in her gut already telling her who it was. 

They were roaring at each other, wrestling into the mud and only being able to hold their own for a few seconds before being tossed around once more.

Thea watched as he took punches to the jaw, brown and crimson splattering into the air. The larger one had him straddled to the ground, choking him out while trying to knock him unconscious at the same time. It was the cheers that got to her. 

She was too busy trying to keep her eyes trained on the flurry of mud and clothes and blood to notice Javier calling her name below, stretching his hand out for her. "Get down from there!" 

"What?!" 

"I said get down! You'll slip and fall!" He yelled through the crowd's hooting. 

She swung her leg over the side and he caught her by the waist, settling her to the ground. Her eyes searched his face, noting the thick swelling on his cheekbone and the cut on his lip. He took her hand and led her to where the other two men were standing. 

"Place your bets. Charles and me got Arthur but Bill said he's goin' for the big guy. _Puto monstruo._ " 

"That guy's gonna pop his fucking head off, go help your friend!" She shot out her arm towards the fight, seeing that now he'd gotten some kicks in, using his size to dart around and punch the kidneys. Someone kept yelling for a ceasefire. 

"Nahh, he's fine. See, he's winning! Aye Bill get your money ready for me." 

A bottle was placed in her hand, she looked to see the long-haired man. "I was told you were owed this." 

God she was so fucking confused. On one hand here was this civil conversation going on and not even five feet away the other one was fighting for his damn life. 

That voice kept getting louder, the rain couldn't drown it out. Everyone watched as a thin, sickly man came between them and singlehandedly stopped the fight. To her surprise, the outlaw wasn't dead, wasn't beaten to a pulp neither. The rain had cleared and gave way to a patchy blue sky. 

The tension in her chest eased and she took a long, needed swig of whiskey. 

"Wait what the hell? So who won?" Javier piped, rubbing at his jaw. "I earned that money fair, Bill. Hand it over." 

She walked back to the wagon, trying to calm down the horses. Her brows knit at the sight of a shard of glass sticking out of one of their flanks, trail of blood dripping onto the crème color of it's coat. "Oh you poor thing. Shit." Stupid men and their stupid barfight in this stupid town. Fucking hell. 

The hero of the hour limped past her and the wagon, settling with a pained huff onto the steps of the general store, face so dirtied she was grateful she couldn't make out any of his features, rolling his shoulder.

Idiot. 

Those other three were still busy arguing over bet winnings, and she was busy trying to figure out how to help this horse, biting her knuckles. 

Someone was talking to him now, all accented and unfamiliar, she didn't pay any attention to it. It was only when that coldly familiar, dark voice rang out so unexpectedly that she jumped in her skin when she heard it. 

"-found sniffing about." Van Der Linde chuffed, catching her gaze with eagle-like precision. Thea looked away, shivers running circuits down her spine.

The other two were engrossed in conversation, the difference in vernacular was astounding. Javier and his pals had settled their scores and walked up and joined the conversation, greeting the new one with nods and smiles. She just kept tending to the horse, stroking its neck and trying to keep the blood flow at bay, wishing she'd gone ahead and became a doctor instead of a bounty hunter, hell even a career as a veterinarian would suffice. Birthing cows and curing colic..-

"I'd figured you'd be at the door of the sheriff's by now at the sight of me." He was looming over her shoulder, placing a ringed hand right by hers on the horse's neck. "Poor thing. Went and took a gash in the back for you." 

She brought her hand back, "Don't act so surprised. You must think I'm devoid of logic to go running around chanting your name." 

He scratched the animal's chin, chuckling, "That sentence in of itself was surprising. I take it you enjoyed yourself today?" 

Looking at her again, passing his eyes down her body. Thea quickly placed a fist over her pocket, obscuring the outline of the blade. "Sure." 

"Good. That's good. You look...radiant." 

The look on his face when he said it, she'd never felt more vulnerable. Not when she was bare naked with a murderer standing outside the door, not being in range of flying glass, not being surrounded by thieves and killers during a barfight. How horrible to think that only this man possessed this power. 

"Radiant? You tell all your hostages that? Or only when you want them to tell you something?" 

"Not everyone's as lucky as you to be my hostage. Remember that. You're only alive because you're valuable—to me." 

Van Der Linde began to draw close, raising a hand as though he was about to strike her, but in a swift motion he plucked the shard out of the horse's flank and tossed it on the ground. All while never taking his eyes off her, the scent of his cologne practically passing through her: sharp and spiced. 

The horse let out a pained neigh, then grew quiet. 

Thea's fist flexed hard enough for her fingernails to dig into her palm. 

"So yes, you look _radiant_ , my dear." 

* * *

Arthur flicked his gaze to where Dutch was standing with the girl, but Trelawny's question brought him back. 

"You said you found her in Strawberry? I don't think I've ever seen a female bounty hunter." 

Javier straightened his jacket, "You were saying something about Sean?" 

"Ah yes, I've told Dutch this already, but you boys might consider interrupting that convoy, if you get my heading." He winked. 

Charles nodded, "we'll scope it out." 

Pain let itself be known in every nook and cranny of his body, from his shoulder to his chin all the way down to where he fell on his ass. Never-mind the shit smelling mud all over his face. 

The others were still talking when Dutch returned, adjusting his cuffs, "alright. There's too many of us here. Trelawny," he nodded to the man, "lovely to see you, as always. Rest of you know what to do. Arthur, after you get yourself cleaned up why don't you go ahead and return the fine lady back to camp. Then you can go help out the others." 

"Sure."

* * *

Thea was still standing by the horse when Javier walked up to her, the swell of his cheek turning redder by the moment. She shook her head and sighed, "that's gonna last a while." 

"Ah, I'll be fine. But look at you, worrying about me and all... I should get beat up more often." 

"You think this is a joke, hm? Didn't look too funny when you were being choke-slammed on the table. " She snipped, still somewhat shaken by her previous interaction.

He snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Might be gone for a while. I won't say I'm going to worry for you only cause I know you won't believe me." 

She looked to the other two who were waiting, awkwardly trying to salve a conversation. "You know I hold my own, Javi. Go on then. _Hasta pronto."_

Javier let out a soft sigh, then reached out and pat her shoulder. _"Hasta pronto."_

They whistled for their horses and trotted off, leaving her leaning against the wagon with a patch of sunlight on her eyes, watching him melt away into the blur of people.   
  
How she missed those long days filled with solitude, where she wouldn’t have a care in the world. Just her, her horse and her posters of wanted men. 

If someone told her a few months ago that she’d be worrying after one of those exact men, Thea would’ve laughed right in their face.   
  
But here she was, and there he goes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh what's gonna happen next? impromptu robbery?? another bath?? we don't know!!!


	18. Kléftis

The aftermath left her shaken, arms gripping a little too hard into her skin. Van Der Linde's words rang in her ears, quiet and deadly:

 _you're only alive because you're valuable._

She grit her teeth. Fed up from his audacity, his explicit assuredness. 

"until when?" Her whisper spilled out, and the image of his ringed hand crushing her windpipe flashed in her mind. 

Dusk had already fallen. Muted purple sky cast over by the departing rain clouds. The smell of freshly coalesced mud rose into the air like thick smoke, latching onto her skin and clothes. Broken glass and shattered wood planks surrounded where she was standing, blood draped across their corners. It was a shame to say that the sight didn't make her feel sick, unlike others, who soured their faces and walked off shaking their heads.

It'd been a long day, the longest in months. How she still had the strength to stand eluded her, whiskey bottle barely hanging on to her fingertips, half-empty. 

The sound of dunking water split her thoughts in two. Looking over only to see the reigning champion of Valentine barfights sticking his swollen head in a barrel. Buckskin jacket striped white from fingernail scores, his spluttering huffs tinged with exhaustion. 

She sipped at the whiskey, ignoring her taste buds' protests at the bitterness, watching as he lifted his head above the water: droplets running down the bruised ridge of his nose, down the bloodied crest of his lips, catching on the swell of his cheekbone. It must've been the drink, cause in the moment he reminded her of an unfinished statue—the ones she'd seen hidden behind workshops—waiting for the sculptor to refine the jagged edges, waiting to be carved from stone to skin.

He caught her with a glance that quickly turned to a glare, eyes frozen over. 

It wasn't an exaggeration to say her blood ran cold. The bottle fell from her hand and rolled beneath the wagon. 

His expression darkened, and with a swipe of a hand down his face he came over, lanternlight turning his red bruises amber. She tilted her chin up.

"Where did you get the whiskey." Statements, never questions. 

Thea leaned back and let her head rest on the boards, shrugging. "mm-.. what whiskey?" 

A noise rattled from his throat, he swung his torso around to look for any onlookers, "Goddammit Charles." 

She tucked some stray hairs behind her ear, "I always get what I'm owed, cowboy. Don't you?" 

"Enough. Christ-" He flinched suddenly, groaning and nursing his jaw. 

Walking over to the wagon, he started mumbling numbers and quantities of supplies, all while the evening grew darker and people grew scarcer. Now there only a few men milling about and dozing horses tied to posts. That, of course, and the poor wrecked saloon.

Thea massaged her temple, sighing, waiting for the signal to hop up so they could get going. 

But it never came, she found him looking to-and-fro the hotel and stables, scribbling into a journal. She couldn’t help but scoff. 

"Are you fucking sketching?"

He didn't respond, just shut the journal and tucked it back into his jacket. She nearly lost her balance, stumbling forward with a bout of laughter.

"Hmm...outlaw, murderer, thief, kidnapper, conman and _artist._ Quite the reputation. To think they didn't put that on your bounty poster," She stopped to chuckle, "I could've lured your ass with oil pastels." 

Bold. She was quickly pulled back with a growl in her ear. "Don't test me." 

Her brows knit, "or what? You'll kill me? I know." 

Silence took over, heavy enough for her drunken consciousness to realize the weight of the possibility. Damn. 

She shook her head, tone dropping, "just get me back there, as you were told. Wouldn't want your boss getting you in trouble for-"

He turned to look at her now, "no, got one more errand." 

A night breeze passed by them both, ruffling through their hair. Thea frowned, "I don't-... there shouldn't be any other errands." 

"It's mine," he paused to put his hat on, huffing, "and you're drunker than half o' this shitfaced town. Can't leave you here." 

She rolled her eyes, "I hold my drink fine. I suggest you get going, you're losing daylight." 

"Don't need daylight for this. C'mon." He started walking towards the hotel, and it wasn't until he was halfway there that her gears started working. 

Thea backtracked, "No- stop. Why there?" 

He stopped, barely looking over his shoulder at her, fists forming. "Thought I told you not to test me.”

That famously drink-induced rage started to simmer in her chest, heat climbing up her throat. "Tell me what you're errand is. Unless you just wanna put a bullet in every person who decides to help me. Piece of-" 

Out in the open like this, of course people were going to overhear. Windowsill lamps lit up, a head or two poked out, hell, even the horses woke back up, ears angling in their direction. 

Her attention was on the sheriff's office, searching for a stray deputy somewhere. No way in hell this goddamn- 

Latching onto her arm like a vice, she was pulled to the shadowed side of the hotel into a thin alley, the sight of the sky torn away.

His body pushed hers against the wall, fingers wrapped around her mouth before she could cry out. 

Thea's skin crawled with hatred, she fought against him, trying to bite and kick and wriggle out of his grasp.

The smell of his blood mixed with the alcohol in his breath flooded her, and she watched with widened eyes and ragged breaths, thinking it was finally the end. 

_"I'm gettin' sick and tired of you and your bullshit."_ He growled onto her face—tightening his strength—boxing her in. "Dutch should've just _killed_ you that night and saved us all the Goddamn bother." 

Her mind was swirling, pain spreading down her jaw. She couldn't even reach for the knife in her pocket, the bone of his hip crushing her arm.

Drink swayed in him too. It poured out of his wounds and for a moment he hurt, leaning forward unto her and breathing in her hair. Thea felt a warble cut in her throat, his nose at her ear: 

"Christ-... shit." 

It became too much, his hand slipped off her mouth and flew to his side, body breaking its stance and letting her free. 

Her knees buckled and she crumbled to the ground, panting, arms barely strong enough to keep her from falling face-first. 

A woman's breathy moans and the sound of jerking bedsprings came out from the second story window above, and by the time Thea got to her feet it grew obscenely louder, filling the alley. 

He was turned away from her, swigging at a gin bottle with reckless abandon. 

"It would've saved me the bother, too." 

"What." He tossed it away, shattering against the wall.

"Van Der Linde—killing me. You're not the only one who wanted it to happen." She ran her palm across her jaw, stepping closer. "If someone told me I'd be going through all of this I would've burned the posters and moved on to the next." 

His eyes were on her, so easily readable. She came closer. 

The woman in the hotel room let out a filthy scream. 

"But now that I'm here, witnessing all the things I'd only read about, I realized something." Her right hand floated up his chest, barely touching the fabric of his shirt, never moving her eyes off his, scanning the turbulence of his reaction. 

They hitched their breaths at the same time. 

"I see it in you. In all of you. You know what's coming to your precious gang, what I'm bringing. The _bother_ you speak of isn't me, is it? It's the ghost of the noose 'round your neck. So, if that means I have to go through all this shit to watch you hang in the end, then it isn't a bother to me _at all._ " She traced the line of his collarbone, and with a final glance at his face, she withdrew. 

He caught her hand with a grip so tight she hissed, brim of his hat pressed on her hair. "We'll see who's watchin' who die in the end. I suggest you keep movin', for both our sakes." 

She twisted out of his reach, he left with a grumble. 

Thea turned the corner and had to steady herself against the wall, vision dotting. The hotel door was only a few steps away, why was it so hard to move her feet? Whiskey swilled in her stomach. Bitter hickory on her tongue. 

He was already inside and speaking to a sleepy desk clerk by the time she gathered herself and went in, sliding some bills over and coherently muttering. "Got anythin' next to 2B? Just got a partner stayin' there is all." 

Confused, but more-so conflicted, she kept peeking towards the dark hallway that led to the baths, hoping she wouldn't catch a glimpse of what she was dreading. 

"Got 2A, but hasn't been cleaned-" 

"I'll take it." 

"You sure? I got a room upstairs that's neater for you and your-" 

He raised a hand, "nnnope. Thanks partner." 

Slamming another bill on the table, he snatched the keys and sauntered towards the rooms. 

Thea rushed to the desk, "the baths, they still open?" 

The clerk blinked, "uh, no ma'am. The ladies head home just before midnight, but for an extra dollar I can open them up for-" 

"No- no. That's alright." She let out a sigh, "thank you." 

"Enjoy your stay." 

The laugh rang out before she could stop it, cupping her hand over her mouth as though she just spouted blasphemy at church. The poor clerk just looked so tired, he gave her a meek smile and went back to whatever he was doing. 

She hated herself for finding humor in this. 

He was standing in the room with his thumbs hooked in his belt, surveying the mess with disgust by the time she stumbled in and gasped. "Oh God. Ew." 

"Like a rat's nest, perfect for you." 

"Fuckin' hilarious. This your errand?" She pointed her chin to the bed, grimacing at a particularly large wet spot. 

The place smelled like drunk sex, and unfortunately she was _very_ familiar with it. Empty bottles littered the floor, a necktie and hair ribbons strewn across the vanity and dresser, and not to mention the pile of puke in the corner. She felt her stomach lurch. 

He didn't get the joke, just pushed past her into the hallway. "You stay here. And if anybody come askin', you're a call girl waitin' on payment." 

She shook her head, "A call girl? Dressed like this? You ever even seen a call girl, cowboy?" 

"Christ. I would've been done by now if it weren't for your Goddamn nagging. Just do what I say." He said, eyes trained on the next room, "quick gimme your hairclip." 

She didn't want to ask anymore, frankly exhausted of his bullshit. She gave him the pin and went back into the room, fighting not to pass out. The armchair looked clean enough to hunker down into, rubbing her forehead to try and ease off the headache. 

What the hell was she doing here? She was never one to conform, especially not for a selfish murderous outlaw with a death wish. Her mind drifted to Javier and that worried look in his eye when he told her he was leaving, as though she wasn't going to be there when he returned. But before that—during the barfight—when he was cheering with his fist in the air, fresh blood glistening off his cheek: she'd never seen him look more alive. Then the words she spoke earlier came through, and her heart sank at the thought of a noose around _his_ neck, fighting with the justice of it all. 

Thea lifted her eyes to the room. It was too damn quiet. Unnerved, she rose from the chair and tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear to it. 

Some muffled shuffling, and the sound of knocking objects in the wall. She opened the door. 

The darkness of the hallway sent her into a vertigo, the floor swirling and nausea jumping. She started to pant, sweat trickling down her temple, wanting—no—needing to get the hell outta here. 

Time slowed. It felt like hours passed before she was standing beside room 2B, muttering something incoherent. 

The knob turned. Door opened. She saw him crouching next to a steel safe, hunching over piles of green. Money. Stuffing it into his coat, into his pants. He was chuckling, shoulders pulsing with glee. It wasn't his. He's stealing. 

He's stealing. 

\---

_"Thief."_

Thea started to tremble, hair covering her eyes. "I-.. I found it. It was on the ground." 

_"And a liar as well? Do I need to remind you what happens to thieves?"_

"No! I didn't steal it! I swear." 

The marketplace was swarming, she thought nobody would see. 

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

_"Give it to me."_

A leather-braided necklace. It caught her eye and she reached for it out of childish impulse. 

She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm sorry." 

_"This is not the first time, Amalthea. The punishment will be harsh."_

"I said I was sorry." She blustered, lip drooping. 

_"Come along."_

She couldn't remember how old she was. Maybe seven or eight, perhaps ten. She only remembered the hurt. She remembered holding out her hands while begging for forgiveness, saying she'll never steal again. Saying she was sorry. Her cries were drowned out by the snaps of the branch, hitting and hitting and hitting. She didn't speak for two weeks after, not until the bandages fell off.

That was her first lesson in swift justice. Although the notches on her fingers faded, she did not forget the sound of wood striking her skin. 

\---

Whiskey made her stupid, she was sure of that now. In sobriety she would've recognized his stunt in a second. 

Now he was looking at her with that angry glare burning sores through her guard.

Her hearing took its time to return. Catching onto his drawl mid-sentence. "-you doing. Didn't I tell you to stay in the damn room." 

Thea opened her mouth to speak but her tongue had gone dry, sticking to her teeth. She gave out a choked gasp. 

Was it a shock that he was stealing right after getting his ass beat? No, she'd guessed his nature rather quickly. In her drink-addled mind she figured that she could've done something about it, her lapsing muscles and exhausted reflexes powering up for intervention. She forgot that he was a towering bull of a man and placed her confidence in the little pocketknife to deliver that cutthroat justice she was so fond of giving. 

Thea braced herself and bolted at him, flicking the blade out and aiming for his neck. Her heart battered in her chest and the veins behind her eyes throbbed, but she'd be damned if this wasn't the first time she'd felt the heat of her blood since being captured.

He was caught off his guard, both his hands occupied by stacks of green, eyes widened. 

She used all her strength to push him against the safe, lodging the knife right under his chin, rendering him still.

”Now this feels familiar... where..? Oh that’s _right._ The cellar.” She spoke against his throat, watching beads of sweat form along his brow. 

The money fell out of his hands and his jaw tightened. 

The burst of energy left her struggling to breathe. Shit she was tired. 

Fuck, did he put his hands up? Where-

The room turned suddenly upside down and so did she, hoisted up off the ground and dangled over his shoulder like it was nothing, her scream of protest muted by the sound of his clicking gun. She felt the barrel press against her thigh, poking into the stretch of her jeans. 

"Give me the knife or your leg gets it. And this time there ain't no doctor nor lovesick idiot to save ya." 

He pressed it harder, making her whimper. She dropped the knife. 

He kicked it away, underneath the bed. Then settled his pockets and put away the gun. She still felt the faint coldness of it. 

Blood rushed to her head. Thea's body juggled between blacking out and vomiting at the same time. She watched her hair turn static against his coat. 

Her vision dwindled. One moment they were still in the room—the next—halfway down the hallway. His footsteps lulled her into a trance, the knock of his heel against the floor rhythmic and soothing. 

She couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop him. Now he was walking away with money he didn't earn, someone else's riches without a care in the world. Do men like him even feel that tug of guilt? Or it just wasn't etched into them like it was with her. She tried to wriggle herself free, but every time his grip hardened into her leg and she let out a sharp hiss, remembering the rope burn. 

The clerk wasn't behind the desk. Perhaps he'd retired for the night, she didn't blame him. 

Wind winnowed through her hair as he stepped out, a cool chill against the heat of her skin. She heard him breathe a sigh of relief. 

Thea was dropped into the wagon, landing on an uncomfortable pile of provisions. But she was so tired that she didn't care. The cans poked into her back and the crates were too rigid to lay on. 

Her eyes opened briefly to see him looking down on her; face barren of emotion. His gaze lingered for a moment longer then he climbed up and set the horses forward. She kept fading. 

The ride back was solemn. Leaning trees and their curious leaves had dulled their whispers, as though they shied away.

Her hand started to ache with memory, she was now just as guilty as he was. A thief. 

When the wagon pulled back in to the camp, she was numb everywhere, except in her stomach. 

She clambered off—ran towards the bushes—and heaved until there was nothing left. 

It was all part of their plan: to inoculate her into their sick system. It would start out gentle, like this, a light little robbery, but she feared she'd eventually be just like them. Feed a hound human flesh and it'll soon turn to a wolf. 

Thea collapsed beside the tree and endured a sleep full of nightmares.

\---

"Hey. Hey- wake up. Thea?" 

"mm- Javier?" 

He was leaning over her, morning sunlight casting over him. For a moment she forgot where she was, then the headache came. 

She sat up, sighing. The sickness in her stomach hadn't left. "What are you...you told me...?"

Javier cast his eyes to the ground. "Yeah. I thought so too. But last night Dutch sent Bill to come collect us... said he had a better idea for-" 

"She awake yet? Dutch needs to speak with 'er." A familiar grumble called from behind him. 

"Alright Arthur, alright. Just give us a moment." 

"Yeah, no. Have your moment later." 

_"Hijo 'e puta."_

Thea winced but got to her feet, taking a minute for her eyes to adjust to the light. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, beginning walk towards Van Der Linde's tent with the two men following after.

The man himself was sitting on his cot, reading something to the red-haired woman beside him, who looked hopelessly enamored. The moment his eyes caught hers though, he shut the book and stood. "Ah, good morning. I take it from your little adventure last night you slept well?" 

She said nothing, the cowboy behind her was silent as well. 

"Well," Van Der Linde crossed his arms, "no matter. I called you here to speak with you about something... most pressing. It involves one of our boys, Sean, who's been captured-" 

"Spare me the details. What do you want?" She rubbed her temple. 

He blinked and placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his gaze. "Are you familiar with Ike Skelding?" 

Her stomach dropped and she feared she had to retch again, stiffening. "What?" 

"Ike Skelding and his boys. Bounty hunters. By the look on your face you know exactly who I'm speaking of." 

She hadn't heard the name in years. It made her falter her words. "I-... I know _of_ them. I don't-"

Blatant, stupid lie. He saw right through it. "Excellent. See Arthur? I knew she would prove to be valuable. I haven't been fishing in a while," He ran his eyes down her frame, "never really found the right _bait_." 

Thea fought with what little strength she had to keep her knees from buckling, lips parting in shock. "No..." 

“Yes.” He nodded, “you’re going to help us get our boy back. We’re all missing him dearly, you see, and what better way to be initiated into our camp here? Hmm?” 

_”No.”_ She heard the crack in her voice. They all did. 

"Yes. Hook, line and sinker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, but action packed


	19. Beside Wild Violets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I want to apologize for the unannounced hiatus, it wasn't planned nor was it wanted. But I want to thank each and every one of you for reading this fic and encouraging me with your heartwarming comments and kudos. <3 
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence, and all that comes with the topic. As well for the explicit scene in the beginning.

_"Take it off."_

Her skin flushed under the heat of his mouth, lips trailing down the strings of her corset, undoing them one by one. His hand came up and took her hair out of its hold, draping down her shoulders.

She sighed into the crook of her arm, body growing impatient. 

He sensed it. The moment those strings came loose he grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over, latching onto the delicate flesh of her neck, thumb stroking slow circles into her cheek. 

She didn't remember him being this warm, this tender, this gentle. Has he always smelled like crushed wildflowers?

His chest pressed on hers, the rough of his denim scathing her thighs as she locked her legs around his hips, pushing him even further on her. He huffed, coming up to catch her lips in a kiss.

A kiss hard enough—needy enough—to know. 

Her eyes fluttered open and her breathing stilled. And as always, he sensed it. 

The dying campfire outside flared across his features, copper shadows danced across the thin walls of the tent. It was clear now that their time spent apart took different tolls on them. 

"You don't want that." 

She searched through the muddled lust within his gaze. A lone coyote cried to the moon outside. Her heart sunk.

He's known since the beginning that she doesn't. 

"Don't ruin the moment," she reached for him, fingers trailing towards the mound of his jeans, "we only have tonight." A smile played on her lips. Though, she couldn't remember if he ever saw it. 

"I know." 

He unraveled his reserve the moment his body came down on hers again. The way his fingers lingered with soft sanctity on her skin, how he sighed each time she let out a keening moan, that abrasive urgency seemed to vanish with every caress that passed through him. And when they connected and her back arched and she raked her nails down his shoulders and heavily panted in his ear, he let her feel it all. He let her feel and feel and _feel,_ up until she couldn't any longer and her screams climbed higher and that gnawing, white-hot bliss spread like sin. 

His face hovered over hers—short grunts torn by segments of her name spilling from his lips—carrying a depth that shocked her to her core. 

"Thea. Thea. Oh _God...Thea._ " 

She couldn't handle it, couldn't bear to hear the rumble of a desire she couldn't provide in his throat. He'd laced her name in honey without permission.

She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him into a kiss, the same way he did: hard and needy. The groan that bloomed from within him clawed its way into her lungs and cocooned where she could not reach, festering. 

Damn him to hell. Damn him for ever regarding her for anything more than a pastime fuck. _Damn_ him. 

Her hands gripped at him harder in an effort to chase her release. He canted his with broken whines that drove his hips faster.

It sent her body reeling—she sank her teeth into his bottom lip—and came undone. 

They went limp in each other's embrace.

A dreadful silence filled the tent, a sign of finality. 

The fire had died out, they were coveted in pure darkness. Storm clouds hid away the moon, rolling overhead with crackles of thunder that drowned out the pounding of their hearts. She was nestled at his side, his arm slung lazily around her waist. 

"Tell me something good." She whispered.

He traced a line down her hip, voice catching in his throat. "Good, huh... that's what you wanna hear?" 

To think that this was the last time they saw each other.

"What..?" She frowned, "I'm trying-" 

"No. You're not trying, Thea." He was sitting up now, back turned towards her, "you don't want to deal with what just happened, so you're bullshitting your way out of things like you always do." 

She'd never felt anything colder than the chill of his hand leaving her skin. 

"Always? _Always?_ " Her arms wrapped around herself, covering her chest, "is that how it is now? Familiarity?" 

He tipped his head back and let out a slow, drawn-out chuckle. "You're pathetic." 

That word burned. She fought back the urge to throw the bile sitting on her tongue at him. "What the fuck happened to you? There's no time for talking about shit that doesn't matter, you—" 

She stopped. He gripped at the sheet of the bedroll. 

"Is that what this is about?" Her laugh ran deep, "'cause I didn't wanna kiss you?" 

"No... it's cause you forced yourself to do it anyways." 

What felt like hours of silence panned through them. She remembered how much she hated him in that moment. 

"You've gone softer than I thought. Don't tell me you wanna run away together and get married in the mountains, now." 

He was quiet. So, it was finality. Her eyes scoured the darkness in search of him, he suddenly felt so much farther away. 

"Skelding's movin' us up to a place called New Austin. Shitty—from what I've heard—nothing but vagrants n' deserts. We leave at dawn." He took in a breath, shadow of humor beneath, "there's your 'something good'." 

The coyote cried once more - wretched and bitter.

"I..- look, I figured we could put this shit behind us. No more gutting poor fools for stealing a few pennies, no more hassling with stupid sheriffs, no more of... this. Whatever this is." He said, the croak of exhaustion lingering with his words. 

She shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know nothing else. I cannot give up, or give in. You know this." 

Another stroke of silence.

"Then this is it... you were my last resort, Thea." 

In a flare of indignation she thrust her hands into the dark and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to face her, solely seeing by touch. He tensed under her palm and she steadied her grip. "I'm not your _anything._ You hear me? Leave 'cause you want to, leave cause you're tired. Go—because you feel like complete shit and you're sick of being a pawn and you want your fucking life to..- to make sense." She let her hand wander up his neck, trying to memorize every ridge and crest and curve where his pulse throbbed under her thumb like a firing gun. It came to rest over his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering closed against her fingers as she brought her mouth to his ear. "Go, build yourself a home in the mountains and bury all your sins in the earth where no one will find them." She felt her voice quiver as she pressed herself against his back, "and find yourself a woman whose going to make you happy...and who'll kiss you— _like it's all she knows how to do."_

"...is it so difficult to imagine yourself with me? Doing all those things?" 

Her hand flew to his mouth and stilled it from ever spouting bittersweet nothings again.

They both knew. 

He was gone come dawn. 

* * *

Dutch stroked his jaw, staring down the intensity in her eyes, wondering where in the hell this sudden moral code came from. She looked, dare he say, defiant. What he once would've coined as simple indifference towards others now became a steadfast secret she looked to be holding on to dearly. 

Molly walked up from behind him and rested her hand on his shoulder, to which the woman's eyes followed, "don't tell me yer' serious now Dutch. I mean look at 'er, can barely stand on 'er own two feet let alone go out wranglin' other bounty hunters." 

The woman ripped her gaze from his to meet Molly's, her voice dropping low, "don't speak for me."

He heard Molly's breath hitch in her throat as Javier snorted back a chuckle, her grip tightening on his shoulder, "speak for you? quite the _dangerous_ lass, aren't ya now? show some respect." 

Dutch watched the woman's eyes run up and down Molly's frame, his hand still resting on his jaw. He'd be lying if he wasn't both humored and intrigued by her, and by the looks of it the others were too. Arthur and Javier both had smirks on their faces, waiting for her response. 

Her brow raised and she scoffed, "didn't realize bedwarmers needed any respect." 

He felt the shudder that ran through Molly, felt it multiple times, in fact, right when she was about to- 

_"You filthy wretch—"_

Dutch caught her flying wrist mid-air, mere seconds before it met its target, pulling Molly to the side. "Miss O'Shea." He said, and she went still, brittle betrayal dancing in her green eyes as she looked up at him, face twisted with anger. The moment he released her hand she stormed out the tent with a huff. 

He turned back to see the woman... unfazed, a grinning Javier murmuring something in her ear, to which she promptly covered her smile with her hand. Arthur was staring at him, arms crossed and waiting. 

"So, what? We trustin' her with rescuing Sean? What happened with Trelawny?" 

Dutch placed his hands on his hips and nodded at the man, "don't worry, Arthur. You'll still have Trelawny, along with Charles and Javier." He waved out his hand dismissively towards her direction, "murderous bastards that they are they're too thickheaded to suspect one of their own working against them." 

"Thought I already said no, you must've misheard me." Her hands curled into fists at her side. 

"And you're in no position to make demands. You're nothing but a pawn in this play, and for this to work I need you to be perfectly, precisely compliant." Dutch stalked forward and closed the space between them, leaning over her. 

"I'm not-.. I _can't._ " Her voice faltered again, and for a moment Dutch almost saw her lip tremble. 

"You are," he couldn't help but smirk at her fleeting helplessness, "I'm sure those boys would be delighted to see you. All you need to do is be yourself: a traitorous, cold-blooded _savage,_ " 

Arthur gave a dark chuckle. 

"And leave the rest up to them." Dutch winked at Javier, who returned it with a meek smile. 

When he looked back, the only word that came to mind to describe the glaze in her eyes was infernal. He could only fathom the amount of rage boiling in her, if she could bring it forth would she kill him right here? Would she tear his throat out and gouge her nails in his eye sockets and drench herself in his blood until it consumed her? He'd only seen that look once before, in Arthur, right when he first found him. Dutch had feared for his life the first few nights, wondering if the boy would commit the very massacre that his eyes so openly reflected. 

Anger that's let loose to roam and flourish loses its chance to be reigned, which is exactly what he sees standing before him now. Unbridled, unabashed anger. 

Before she could inflict any more damage, he angled his chin to the entrance of the tent. "Go. Now." 

Out went Arthur followed by Javier—only she remained—casting her gaze up and down just like she did Molly, only this time much more sinister. 

"Were my instructions not clear-"

He wasn't expecting her finger to come up and thrust directly in his face, and when he met her eyes, they were void of everything he claimed to witness before. There was nothing there except for the shaded russet of her irises. It shook him to his core. 

"Tell me, Van Der Linde... do you believe in destiny, or fate?" 

He swallowed, she was close enough to stick a blade in his chest, dare he give in to her follies? "Why do you ask?" 

"Because I know men like you who love to think they're masters of their own fate, that they can create and build empires that bend to their every will and desire _._ " The words rolling off her tongue made them sound sinful. And for a moment he believed her. Dutch tilted his head as she continued, "and you may be living in that right now _—_ these fools around you treating you like some king meant to deliver them beyond law and justice to ultimate freedom. Tell me, you ever witness a mirage, Van Der Linde?" 

Dutch nodded, and she chuckled. "Not the ones I have. Maybe you've seen water where it wasn't there - but I've seen men rip their eyes from their heads and throw them into the sand to keep from seeing what they saw." 

He couldn't help the chill that ran down his spine at the thought. He knew this was a part of her ruse, to keep him second-guessing, but a part of him wondered why she would go to such lengths to keep it so. 

She wasn't blinking. Dutch wanted to strike her away, to tell her to get out, something—anything. Yet he was silent and could not find it in himself to do anything, not when she'd rendered him this way. 

"You're all living in one - right now. Blinded by the beauty of it all. So go on, Van Der Linde. Command, lie, steal, kill. I will sit here and watch your empire come undone until you're begging me to slit your throat..." She murmured, and he could not tell if her eyes fell to his lips or his neck.

Something snapped in him that very second. He sneered and wrenched her hand off, watching her face twist and her arm writhe against his grip. Dutch chuckled, "did you enjoy that? Hmm? Telling me off? Readin' out lies like some goddamn _gypsy?"_

A whimper spilled from her lips and he turned to see his nails digging into her wrist. His palm had gone rough from years of driving reins and counting bills to recognize the velvet of her skin quick enough. 

The familiar, faint scent of hard, dark whiskey came to his nose as he breathed her in, and prompted questions to rise which he did not want the answer to. 

"Consider that your only opportunity." He growled, releasing her and taking a step back, expecting her to scream and leap at his jugular with her teeth bared, but she didn't. She turned to face him with a knowing glare then walked out, silently, rustling the flaps of his tent open to let in the sunlight. 

Dutch was finally left to compose himself, walking over and sitting down on his cot, trying to calm down from the rush he'd just felt. He smoothed a hand down the cords of his neck, trying to rub the stress from them, ignoring the way his skin felt hot to the touch. A lot of questions popped up in his mind, most of them open-ended and confusing altogether, as they normally are on usual days. Yet why he could not focus on thinking about the things that matter plagued him, how collected he was mere moments before they were alone, and the second her hand landed on his body he felt something he hadn't in years, and what was worse, is that he did not know the name for it. Her words rang in his ears like a prophecy, and although he knew that they meant nothing—a part of him was genuinely concerned of her tenacity to see him eliminated. 

All the questions that harbored more importance were pushed away, and he had to tell himself to stay on track. 

Focus on the situation at hand, not why the damn girl's hair smelled like Arthur's whiskey. 

* * *

Thea stepped out into the bright sunlight, barely recovered from last night's tragedies only to face questioning stares and confused glances from strangers she was too uncomfortable with being this close. Her gaze dropped to the ground and she swung a wide gap from all their murmuring voices towards the horses, plastering her burning wrist to her side. 

A pair of pointed shoes and a yellow-flowered dress stopped her in her tracks. Thea looked up to see a woman reaching out her hand to her, big brown eyes laden with thick lashes curved upwards paired with an earnest smile. 

"Heard you're going out with the rescue party, I..- figured you might need this." 

A roll of bread and a bruised pear, bunched together by some torn white fabric. Thea heard footsteps approaching and looked to see Javier walking up with a grin, "it isn't the fancy cuisine you're used to, but it's what we have." 

The woman gave him a sideways glance and he met it with a wink, and even Thea, with her loopy thoughts felt the unspoken affection. She let the bundle slip into her hands, "thank you." 

"You're welcome. See, you've got manners. Molly said you didn't, but I had to come see for myself." The tinge of humor in her voice made Thea break out a shy grin, figuring the whole camp must've heard about the ordeal already.

"Molly is..?" 

"Yeah. Red hair, finicky." 

"Yeah." 

A beat of knowing silence. Someone slurped their coffee a little too loudly behind them, Javier frowned with disgust.

"Well," she smoothed out her dress, "my name's Tilly. You better get over there, I can feel Arthur's stare burnin' up my backside. Go on now." 

Thea nodded her thanks once more then set off with Javier towards the horses. He kept at her pace and occasionally shot glances behind them, no doubt at the woman with the yellow-flowered dress and sunlight in her eyes.

"You don't have to tell them to bring me food." She muttered, the bundle suddenly feeling heavy.

"I didn't. You really don't think of us as decent people, do you?" 

With what just went down earlier, no, she didn't. She could feel the fresh indents in her wrist the same way she still felt the rope burns down her entire body. 

Walking up, she recognized the long-haired man from yesterday, saddled up alongside... the other one. Her stomach lurched at the sight of him, mounted on a damn leviathan of a horse, glare hidden by the brim of his hat. 

It only took a moment's glance around for the dread to set in. A filled quiver, the soft clicks of bullets being loaded, glinting repeaters and rifles and shotguns hanging off their backs and swung along their shoulders and tucked into saddles. Armed to the teeth. Her jaw clenched. 

"You're riding with Arthur. The faster we move out the better." The long-haired man said. 

She shook her head, "I have a horse. I can-"

"Damn bastard almost bit my hand off while I was tryin' to search him. So no." The outlaw cut in, "trust me, I don't want your stinkin' hide behind me anymore than you do. Get on." 

"Wait, one last thing..." Javier murmured from behind her and before she could turn, fabric came over her eyes and tightened her lids shut. Her gasp caught in her throat and she reeled backwards, landing on his chest, that familiar fear settling within her bones once more. She was too furious to speak.

He squeezed her shoulder, "I'm sorry, but it's just a precaution. It's just for the ride. Here.."

Javier took her hand, soft and practiced, and led her to another's rough and calloused, she flinched at the transition.

His forearm extended towards her and she took it, swinging her leg over and settling herself behind him with a sharp grunt, "try anything funny, and I'll take one of those pretty guns and pop a bullet through your spine." 

His shoulders shook with his laugh, "you should focus on butterin' up Skelding's boys for us, just like the _good girl_ Dutch wants you to be." 

A good girl. A killer. A con. 

Thea bristled, her jaw aching with stress. The horses were set in motion and she had no choice but to wrap her arms around him to stay steady, flinching each time a bump in the road landed the side of her face right between his shoulder blades, the heat from his body warming her cheek from the gusty wind.

Worry clenched at her ribs and tore her apart with every passing hoofbeat. Today was the day she would become the very thing she swore to bring justice against. She did not know whether the shivering was from the wind or the dread. 

\---

The horses were pulled to a stop and incoherent mutters were exchanged by the men as they shuffled off their saddles, leaving Thea to figure out her surroundings as best she could. The distant sounds of ironwork and construction rung from beneath, and even further out a bell tolled it's swaying tune, it didn't take long for her to recognize where she'd been brought. 

Blackwater. Goddamn _Blackwater_. 

She swung her leg over and slid off, steadying herself against the animal's flank. Even the air here was tinged with a sort of animosity that sheltered beneath the promise of progress. 

For a moment she was alone, listening to swallows dart between the tall grass and the horses shake their hides which rattled their tack. It was a pleasant distraction, briefly freeing her mind from the plague of what's to come. 

Someone was walking towards her, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the grass, the frail peace shattered. 

The blindfold was tugged down and fell to her neck, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the golden plains and crisp afternoon sky. There lay the town, in all its beauty and splendor. She let her mind roam. A little ways off was Armadillo, then even further down came Mexico, all the way until the aquiline blue of the pacific. Her throat burned from the plumes of rising wood-dust, blinking away the flecks that landed on her eyes. 

Javier hadn't moved his hand from the blindfold, chewing on a piece of straw. "We need your input, c'mon." 

Thea moved away and ripped the fabric off her neck, tossing it into the campfire beside them. As it hissed its death in the flames she stared him down, fighting with everything to keep from trembling. His hand lingering in the open air, and he looked to be struggling with what to do with it. He took a breath, the kind where words were to surely follow suit. 

She couldn't stand to hear it. For she knew exactly what she would hear. Another excuse, another 'I'm sorry', another shameful and pitiful attempt to dissuade her from hating him like she hated the rest. Before he could begin she ended it, walking away with a dismissive grunt. 

The other two were laid out on the crag overlooking the town, pointing and nodding around different areas and buildings. She walked up with Javier slowly trailing after her, snatching the binoculars from between them and settling on a knee. "Your boy's in the town?" 

"We're waiting on Trelawny for that. Can't seem to find him though." The long-haired man responded, pointing towards a clearing of tents and hitching posts, "those _your_ boys?" 

"A few. Skelding doesn't like to keep them separated unless it's a high contract. Which... it is." She replied. 

"How well do you know them?" Javier asked from behind her, his tone dry. 

She paused, dragging her finger down the etched iron of the binoculars, forcing the immediate memories that popped up with that question deep down. "Often our contracts would be picked up twice, and we ended up working together for the benefactor. I grew close enough with them to know their ways, and looking at this..." She scanned through the clearing, "they wouldn't keep him Blackwater for too long , my guess-" 

"Hold on." 

She was met with a cold glare set in a freshly bruised face, his lip curled into a sneer. "How do we know you're tellin' the truth?" 

"Arthur-" Javier tried to cut in. 

"No. 'Cause for all we know you could be throwin' us in a trap and get us all captured. Must've forgot all them promises you made to me last night—" 

"I'm gonna stop you right there." Thea tutted, wagging a finger, "any attempt to capture you would've been done by now, don't think of yourself as high as your boss, cowboy. Every bounty hunter near and far wants his head on their mantle." She set her jaw, the indents of Van Der Linde's fingernails in her skin sparking hot like volts. "Myself included." 

"It's not going to stay that way if we don't grab Sean, then they're gonna pick us clean one by one 'till Dutch is left vulnerable." Javier grumbled, "if they're anything like Mexican bounty hunters." 

She was distracted, scouring the town in search of something she could not remember properly. Was it...grey? Or flint? Perhaps under sunlight it looked more blue. Her stomach churned with unease. 

"-heard from someone that they scalp some of their bounties.." Her attention returned to the long-haired man, beckoning for her to give him the binoculars. 

"No," Thea got back to her feet, "only when they're allowed." 

A beat of silence, worried looks darting in-between the three. 

"Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to _Sean_. I'm talking ragtag thieves and men who...," she couldn't help but smirk at the blue-eyed outlaw, "commit mortal sins. Like kidnapping." 

He shot it right back, "don't think it counts as a sin if it's kidnappin' a two-timing _snake,_ now, is it?" 

"Let's ask the boys, shall we?" She countered, having the good sense not to kick dirt in his face, "that's some pretty blonde hair you've got. If I ask nicely they can fashion it into a lovely little coin purse for me." 

He chuckled deep in his chest—standing to rise above her—sinister gleam in his eye. "Oh, is that it? What else do you _nicely_ ask the boys for, darlin'?" 

Javier sucked air through his teeth. 

"You son of a-" Of the flurry of curses set to leave her lips, he should've considered himself lucky that they were interrupted.

"Gentlemen. Oh, and err..- my good lady," A voice cut from the bushes, paired to the polished man she saw back in Valentine, twirled mustache and everything, "I suppose Dutch figured you'd play decoy in this little rendezvous, seeing that you're... an esteemed bounty hunter." 

Thea forced a smile, "yes. He did indeed." 

His gaze was laden with distrust, "...right. Well, we're going to have to move quickly, now, Sean is being moved up the Upper Montana, then to a federal prison out west." 

A wave of unease passed through the three: hands wiped across stressed eyes and jaws, long and deep sighs filled with uncertainty. She observed with the slightest hint of confusion, they genuinely looked... worried. For the man's safety, for his fate, should he get there. 

"Damn," the outlaw muttered, "well we can't be rescuing people from some federal prison. We either rescue him now or... cut him loose." 

"We're not cutting anyone loose." 

"..Of course not." 

Thea looked out towards Blackwater, listening to the shrill shrieks of gulls surrounding the harbor, remembering when she visited it, a day after the Massacre. Everything was quiet, everything was in shock. The hull of the ferry riddled with bullets, the colorfully decorated railing torn and jutting—like a massacred bride—awaiting to be buried. A man was screaming into his hands and holding a crumpled photograph. He stayed there longer than the boat did, and even when she had to move on to the next town, she'd passed by the harbor and saw his sunken form idly staring towards the sea. 

And now, to be here, where the harbor looked like nothing but thin strands of black, she wondered if she'd be branded a traitor by him. Would he spit in her face if he found out that the oath she swore to bring his misery to justice was broken? Or would he give a half-hearted smile and say he wasn't surprised? 

Her attention was brought back at the mention of a camp, the one with the twirled mustache looking to her for confirmation. Something about a cabin nearby.

"Yes." She cleared her throat of emotion, "they exchange shifts and rest up before long journeys out, and...- it's not far from here. If you can catch them before they move out, you'll have a better chance of grabbing him alive." 

Javier quirked a brow, "what's that mean?" 

"Skelding's men can be negligent. Forget to give you water or food. Or tie you down too hard so that your blood's got nowhere to go, ends up clotting and you die on the way there," she passed her gaze through their troubled expressions, "they can afford the pay cut for a dead bounty, is what that means." 

God, they looked like they suddenly struggled beneath the weight of their sins. Their little utopia crumbling. 

"Then let's get moving. Charles, why don't you head up on the North side and then we'll head up on the other side of the valley and meet you, that way we have them in either direction." 

The man in question disappeared quicker than the other's sentence finished, mounting his horse and bounding down the hill towards the river. Thea couldn't help the panic that began to spread in her chest. Shit, this was actually happening. 

"Javier, Josiah, come on. Let's go see." The outlaw flicked his eyes towards her, "where'd your blindfold go." 

She pushed past him.

"Burned it." 

Her trembling fingers were pushed into her pockets. That memory kept replaying in her mind, the last time she'd heard his voice, the last words he spoke were of her and her tragedy. 

_is it so difficult to imagine yourself with me?_

Don't. Stop. Stop thinking. 

Thea mounted the horse, eyeing the half-drunk bottle of gin loosely tucked into the saddlebag. And through its pricked ears she stared out towards the snow-covered mountains blending into the horizon, clouds adorning their centers like crisp white brushstrokes, magnifying their height. And as the midday sun bore down on her back and she could feel the sheen of sweat on her cheekbones forming, she couldn't help but think of her insignificance. 

"-get ourselves lost good and proper. It's a big country." 

"I hope so..." 

The stirrups rattled and her view was instantly obscured by his broad shoulders settling in front of her face, any sudden move backwards and she'd land flat on her ass. "Careful," she warned. 

"Hm?" came his grunt and the turn of his shoulder pushed her right at the edge of the horse's rump, and she instinctively reached out for his waist and pulled herself forward with a growl. 

"Eager, ain't we?" He rumbled. 

Eager. Eager to blow bullets in men whom she shared meals with. Eager to coat her tongue in lies and spout the same sweetened venom she'd use on targets. The trembling of her fingers spread to her whole body, she'd felt as though she were wracked with fever.

They formed a line with their horses, trailing along the edge of a canyon while stealing glances down at the river. The boat. God, they're right down there. _They're right there._

She forced herself to look away. The thing that caught her eye was the rivulets of old blood worked into the leather of his jacket, it provided the brief distraction she sorely needed. Some overlapped others in starkness, some had settled into the jacket with time and disregard. How he did not care to clean it off was lost to her. Whether it was kept to silently boast or that he simply knew there would be no use, it would only become splattered red within a few hours anyways. Or perhaps to keep it as a warning to the woman mounted behind that he's every bit the sadistic bastard she thinks he is. 

They kept pace with the river, drifting slightly ahead of the boat while engaged in pleasant conversation - just another day on the job. 

Thea glanced at Javier, his posture relaxed with one hand swaying with the breeze. The other man was chatting about something mundane, his words a cluttered stream of nonsense. 

Until he said her name. And his. 

"-keep hearing about this woman, Heidi McCourt, some young mother they're saying Dutch murdered on the boat?" 

Beneath her arms the outlaw's torso went still, holding his breath. Javier's free hand had curled into a fist.

The image of the man on the dock flashed in her mind again. 

"Ohh, I don't know about that... I wasn't there. Bad day." 

Thick silence fell, the forced ignorance laced in his voice bleeding through like blood on snow. Van Der Linde's most loyal gun, playing coy with the truth. 

They carried on quietly now, following the boat until it docked at the bank. With every trot the bruises on her thighs pulsed, and she was sure that her legs wouldn't carry her any farther than she anticipated they could. Whatever they expected of her to do, was she set to do it? Could she handle a gun like she used to? That is, before she was stripped of her dignity and now forced to turn traitor. 

At Javier's indication, they pulled out their binoculars and set their sights on the distant shouts coming from below, exchanging tidbits about their captee, about Skelding's boys, about their status as wanted men. Thea kept herself from searching, kept her eyes glued to the ground, for she knew the second her gaze landed on one of them and recognition hit, it would drill a hole so deep in her chest she would not be able to keep herself afloat. 

Luckily they were too engrossed in their own acknowledgements to think of asking for her input. 

"They're taking him up the canyon." 

Up the canyon, into the forest, right beside the cabin. The journey she herself made more times than she could count.

"Let's go." 

They were moving again, short-lived, but the battering of her heart made its seem so much more withdrawn. 

Javier called from behind, "what about the other two down there?" 

Fuck. She didn't realize how hard she was biting down on her cheek until it stung. 

"I've got an idea, follow me." The mustached man's voice lilted with the pleasant coil of trickery.

She glanced one last time towards the open plains, towards the fading silhouette of Blackwater, before the narrow slope down obscured her view from behind and opened up to the rocky banks of the river. The horses' hooves crunched the gravel as they were pulled to a halt in the shade. Thea had no choice but to look directly ahead now—right at the two men's backs—right in the face of her burden. 

Javier slid off his horse and brandished his knife in the sunlight. 

This had to be done. It had to. 

Right as she mustered her strength to get off, a hand came to grab her knee, rendering her still. 

He barely looked over his shoulder, the aging bruise on his cheekbone shining purple and green. "Once you get off this horse, you're not gonna do anything stupid, s'that clear." 

Thea winced at the pressure of his grip, "how can I? Unless you think I can cause trouble with a _pocketknife_." 

"As much as I would love to put you down with the rest of these degenerates, you got orders. Now, you better stay close 'cause-" 

"And if I don't?" She wrenched her knee away, "go on, make the first mistake." She leaned forward, bringing her voice down to a low murmur, "let me wander a little too far and then load lead in my skull when I'm not looking. Don't worry, your boss'll forgive you." 

He chuckled through his nose. "No, I don't think he will." 

"Then you better get creative." 

She got off the horse, knowing full well that his ice-cold glare was working into her back, "like you said, I got orders. You stick to yours." 

"The repeater. Grab it." 

Buck Carbine, standard yet efficient. Pretty details too: dark oak varnish with an eagle engraved in the stock. Funny how she never took him for a man who liked to personalize his weapons. She slipped it out of the saddle and tried it out, aiming at the mustached one with her finger resting on the trigger. 

He was too busy speaking with Javier to notice her, but the second he did his eyes went wide and his hands shot up, "e-easy there! Arthur..-Arthur!" 

"The hell you doing?" his growl came from behind and his hand wrapped around the barrel, pushing it down. "Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid?" 

Thea snorted, "calm down, just getting familiar." She swung the gun over her shoulder.

"I'm givin' you one more chance then I'm takin' it back." He said, pointing at her with his knife. 

"God," she rolled her eyes, _"yes sir."_

He opened his mouth to say something but was shushed by Javier, who was signaling at the two men across the river, "you wanna keep it down? We should do this quietly if we can." 

The moment was brief and filled with tension, now returned to the reality of it all, her stomach churned with rattled nerves. 

"Leave it to me, gentlemen," came the other's whisper, relaxed from his fright, "I'll go around and create a distraction, then you two sneak across and do the dirty on them." 

Do the dirty. Strange how 'murder' wasn't on this fool's detailed vocabulary. 

He clicked his horse and was off, leaving them to crouch behind the stones. She watched their knives twirl impatiently in their hands, eyes keen on where they would sink into.

"Once we get across, I need you two to tie your hands together." She murmured, wedging herself between them and pulling a long piece of rope from her pocket. 

"What?" 

_"What._ " 

They both hissed, glaring daggers at her. Thea sighed, "what, you wanna go in gun's blazing? How much time do you think your friend's gonna have if they hear you popping bullets from here?" 

Javier shook his head, "what's the point of the rope?" 

"To make it look believable. I'll walk in with you two behind me as trophies, tell them I'm here to exchange you for a payload and once we're in close enough..." she trailed off, casting her eyes above the canyon to the trail of smoke rising from within the trees. "We'll give 'em hell and you get to save your boy." 

"Hm," the outlaw grunted, "might work." 

"And if it doesn't? If they catch on?" Javier said.

It would land in nothing short of a disaster. A shiver ran up her spine at the thought, "then it's up to you. Whatever that means. But this way you have a chance of getting closer without them noticing." 

"I swear, if I get so much as a _whiff_ of you screwin' us over—well, you better hope your trigger finger's faster than mine." He spoke slowly into her ear. Damn, if she shoveled the gravel on the ground into this man's throat and asked him to speak it wouldn't've sounded any different. 

Thea turned her face ever so slightly towards him, strands of her hair brushing along his cheek, "easy, big man, remember what I said earlier? You're not the one I'm after." 

They locked eyes for a second, and within his gaze she saw the apprehension flickering beneath. He wasn't placing any trust in her at all, was he? He was looking at her the way you would look at an ornery bronco, knit brows and everything. 

_"Tsst._ Keep it down." Javier lowered himself further, sneaking into the waters while motioning towards the bank at the other man approaching on his horse, who was bursting with fretful cries and squawks.

Goddamn, they've got it all down solid, don't they? The one on the horse was putting on the type of display she'd expect to see at the theaters. 

As the hysterics ensued, Thea pressed her lips together at the spike of cold water hitting her calves, keeping still behind a rock while the two went forward. 

She fretted with the rope, feeling the way the stray tendrils poked into her skin like needles, running against her palm. It was no longer a test of faith or loyalty anymore. Calling it survival was the closest thing she could pin this to. Skelding's men took honor just as seriously as Van Der Linde's, if not more. One break in the line meant a brutal and agonizing retribution. 

There was no more time to contemplate morals, the moment she lifted her eyes to the bank was the moment she witnessed their deaths. Like adders they bolted up from the ground and sunk their knives into the sides of their victim's necks in perfect unison. Ribbons of blood ran down the tips of their blades and pooled into their hands as the men fell with choked cries gripping away at their throats, at nothing. 

Javier, though, something deadly awoke in him. He kept going, kept pushing his knife into the man—in his chest, stomach, anywhere it would land. He fell to the ground alongside him, and with sleek precision he punctured holes in the poor fool's corpse until he was bleeding out of twenty different places. Not a droplet landed on him. His knife was quickly cleansed of its sin with a white handkerchief. 

Thea couldn't deny the growing fear in her when he met her gaze, thin slants obscured by the brim of his hat. The trembling in her hands riled back up.

She waded forward, avoiding the trails of blood pouring into the clear waters of the bank, curdling under the heat of the sand and sun. 

Javier angled his head towards the canyon, lifting two fingers. _More of them._ She had to move fast. 

The mustached man had gotten back on his horse and was bidding them farewell, something about the rest of the act not being 'in his line of work'. He'd moved out faster than she could scoff a retort, vanishing with the wind. 

"How do you expect us to walk in there with our guns?" Javier asked.

Thea couldn't help but stare at the dead men's faces. They were unfamiliar, for now. Must be new recruits. Their eyes rolled into the back of their heads, bodies bled dry. She looked to the ground to waive the sting from her eyes. 

"I...- uhm.. I don't-"

"Hey. We don't got all damn day." The outlaw snapped his fingers, breaking her chain of thought, "either you take charge, or stay here while we grab Sean. Make up your mind." 

She cleared her throat and shoved the rope onto his chest, "give me your guns. And tie your hands up." 

He flicked his gaze from her hands then back to her, letting it fall into his grip, at war with himself. His fingers flexed near his gun belt, he took a deep breath, then slipped it off and gave it to her. She swung it across her shoulder with a nod, only to earn an irritated grunt in return. 

"Where'd you even get the rope."

"Off your horse," she hid her smirk, moving past him.

Oh, it was beginning to get fun getting on this man's nerves, especially when he couldn't do anything about it. 

Thea struggled underneath the added weight, almost tipping forward onto the sand, even more so when Javier added his share, "you sure you're okay?" 

"Fine." She hissed, "go make sure his hands are tied right." 

It hurt to look at him. Best if they got this over with. 

Three rifles, four handguns, two gun belts. She regretted leaving Tilly's food back on the horse. Strength was not something she was good at bartering with. 

Once the rope was tied and tightened she went and linked them together: her in the lead, Javier behind, and the outlaw last, dragging his feet.

"This better not end up with me holed up next to Sean _and_ you Javier, I'll rip my damn ears off." He grumbled. 

"Heh. Thinking about it, there aren't much worse ways to go, Arthur. Think we'll get to see Charles, too?" 

"Nah, he's too smart for the likes of agreein' to this. Imagine his reaction seeing us walkin' up tied behind Miss Ma'am over there. Don't know if he'll have a fit or be shocked as hell." 

"Quiet. We're almost there." She snipped, "Javier, do you see the pocketknife on my back?" 

"...uh... did you mean to put that there?"

"Yes. Use it to cut yourself free on my signal. Stay quiet, now." 

Upon approaching, the two men posted on the way up the canyon spotted them, carefully drawing their guns and narrowing their gazes. God, here goes nothing. Thea forced a smile as she trudged up the dirt, sweat rolling off her brow and upper lip, "gentlemen." 

One of them passed his eyes through her, "those yours?" 

She nodded, "uh, yeah. Grabbed em' this morning. Is.. Ike here? He knows me." 

"Huh. All by yourself?" He began to circle around them, scratching his chin at the outlaw in the back, "how'd you get this one? Mean-lookin' sonuvabitch you are, ain'tcha?" 

Thea tugged at the rope as a warning, watching those steeled eyes glint in that now-familiarly hazardous way. Shit. 

"What, can't you speak? Little Miss take out your tongue or somethin', big guy?"

"I wouldn't-" She started.

Poor man was reeling backwards before she could warn him, clutching his spurting nose with a whiny mewl. "Ahh, Fuck! Damn _bastard!"_

She looked back to see the outlaw's forehead stained red and a snakelike smirk plastered on his face. Shit. "Don't say you didn't ask for it." He growled.

A gun clicked, the barrel pushing up his chin, "break my nose, huh, motherfucker? Let me put a bullet in yours-" 

"Hey. Leave it. That's another's catch, son." 

The man held his gun beneath the outlaw's chin a little longer before complying, seething.

"Ike ain't here today. If you're here to rest up keep followin' this road up. The boys'll help you with your load." 

Thea relaxed. Slightly. Moving up meant getting closer, the first barrier cleared. But the fact that Skelding himself wasn't here became a whole different problem on its own. News of the attack would reach him in a matter of hours. The one with the bleeding nose now eyed Javier, nasally sizing him up, "'nd you, what're you..." 

Javier ducked his head behind his shoulder and kept his gaze to the ground, _"no lo se, no hablo ingles señor. No lo se."_

"I said leave it, dammit." 

Once he went back she forced another smile and kept moving, pulling the rope forward with her slick palms and breath caught in her throat. The added weight kindled pain with every step, teeth grit hard enough to splinter wood. 

The climb up was clear. Behind her, Javier and the outlaw were busy signaling their friend posted above with frantic gestures of their heads. She looked up to see him aiming at her, the glint of his gun flaring into her eyes. He was following her every move, and she didn't doubt for a second that his finger was on the trigger. Sounds of friendly chatter and bottles clinking reached her ears faster than she would've liked, and without warning. Thea tried to count the number of voices to get a better sense of what they're going to be dealing with. Best she could get to was ten before it all turned too cluttered to distinguish. Fuck. At least four of those were recognizable. Old accomplices and hunting partners and... friends. She was walking up to help murder _friends._

Too late to turn back, the guilt had fermented to something much more sickly, now working its way into her bloodstream.

The next two bounty hunters were surveying the top, not too far from the cabin, outlined against the sunlight. Once their attention landed on her and her unruly convoy, she postured them both with a hard tug of the rope, trudging up the last leg of the canyon, visibly shaking. 

Then she saw it. The cabin. Nestled in a clearing just beside the forest, smoke rising from its chimney and streaking through the sky. There were men everywhere. Huddled beside dying campfires and dragging at cigars and playing cards and cleaning their guns and practicing their roping and laughing at jokes and they were just goddamn _everywhere._ She wanted to scream. There was a time when the sight of this place meant warm food and good stories. Not a threat. Never a threat. 

"Well I'll be damned. Is that you, Miss Thea? Shit, it's been too long!" 

She almost jumped out of her skin. Turning to see outstretched arms wrapping around her and the familiar scent of leather enveloping her senses. "..h-hey. It's good to see you." 

"Oh," he pulled back, "I wasn't expecting to see you again. Not after... well, you know." 

"Yeah, I wasn't expecting to be back, but... here I am. With spoils." Thea forced a smile, looking over her shoulder at her 'captives', who couldn't hide the scowls on their faces. 

"You okay? You must be exhausted. Here, let me take that from you-" he was looking at the rope. 

"No, it's fine. I'll just uh... make my way over to the loadouts." She almost backed into Javier, her thoughts whirling. 

_"Relájate, Thea."_ He whispered in her hair before she pulled back, an austere warning. She managed to get a glimpse of the outlaw held out further back, and his eyes reflected the same thing: _Get your shit together._

Right. 'Cause it's that fucking easy. 

"Want me to walk with you? These two sure look like a handful." 

She took in a sharp breath. He wasn't letting up. "Yeah, alright. Let's go." 

They walked up slower now, Thea taking her time to weight out her options. There has to be a way to prevent their deaths, there just has to be. She couldn't play this the other way around either, surrendering them to Skelding's men would wreak mayhem, not with their friend in the trees watching her every move through a scope. Goddamn it. 

Javier clicked his tongue. She followed the angle of his jaw to the man swinging by his feet, red hair brushing up dust each time he swayed back and forth. 

It shouldn't be much longer now. Once they got close enough. There could—

"Boys! Look who's here! Get your lazy asses off the ground." 

All heads turned, and those whose faces she recognized broke into beaming smiles that shot through her harder than bullets ever could. 

_"Welcome back."_

_"God how long has it been? Months? The stories I gotta tell you kid-"_

_"So good to see you again. Missed you."_

_"Was just talkin' about you the other night."_

She was swarmed. Their laughter and praise rained down with the burden of their lives. 

Her heart hammered in her chest. 

_"Hey somebody go tell the man his girl is back—"_

The pin dropped. He was still here. He didn't listen. She told him to leave. He stayed. And he's here. That night in the tent, he said he was leaving. He said he was done. 

But he's here. And so is she.

She knew herself, knew that the second her eyes caught his again she would lose control. He would come running, and she would be forced to look at the face she worked so hard to forget. 

Everyone was surrounding her. Either beckoned forth out of curiosity or recognition. It would all be over quick. They won't feel it. It has to be now.

One of them tore away from the group and began to make his way towards the cabin. Every single one of her instincts told her that he was within those walls. Sitting on his infamous chair and smoking a cigarette with reckless abandon. 

It has to be now. 

Javier took a deep breath, she heard him dig his heels into the ground. His knuckles lightly grazed over the small of her back, hovering above the jutting handle of the knife. 

Damn it. It has to be now. 

Thea's eyes turned keen. Skin hot enough to feel the cold sweat running down her brow. Quit stalling.

All their faces blurred together. The cabin door creaked open. Don't you dare look up. 

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. 

"Hey, you alright?" 

She looked up. 

_"Now."_

The rope dropped. The blade disappeared. Weights lifted. She drew the handguns—sidestepped—and fired. All their eyes went round, time moving too fast to process anything. Four bullets, four heads, tears streaming down her face. Blurred, they were all blurred. None of them had expressions. They began to scream, to holler, to gawk in utter and complete shock. Some fell to the ground, others scrambled to the nearest shelter behind wagons, trees, boulders and the cabin. Two of the four men she shot hadn't died yet. Arms flailing in the sky, blood from their forehead bullet wounds trickling into their eyes. 

She kept telling herself that they're not hurting, all while their warbled cries cut through her feeble defenses. One of them wrapped their hand around her ankle, and she forced herself not to blink away the tears that kept her from seeing their face. Another shot to the head, and the hand went limp. 

A bullet whizzed past her head. Two more were fired. 

_"Get them!"_

_"Fucking traitor!"_

Someone pulled her by the collar and shoved her against the cabin wall, "you tryin' to get yourself killed? Take cover!" 

She couldn't answer him. His eyes searched hers, and for a split second his face softened. Thea looked over his shoulder to see Javier blasting rounds into as many men as he could, twisting and darting between trees and rocks with fervent agility, his movements fluid and balanced. 

They were piercing the poor cabin with holes, splintering off bits of wood sharper than daggers in her direction. He pulled her closer to him, turning their bodies to the side. The flap of his jacket came over her frame, and made a break for it. 

Running out into the exposed area, Thea could practically feel all their sights land squarely on her. The outlaw put himself in front, knocking out men with quickfire shots from his handgun, busting open skulls and cracking through ribcages with ease. She watched them fall, bodies hitting the ground with respective blood spurts following suit. 

"Damn army of these bastards. How much is Sean's bounty?" He called to the others, she heard Javier chuckle.

They split at the two boulders, him pushing her out of his reach so that she fell behind cover. They were four now, the friend at the ridge standing beside Javier and firing shots in rhythmic succession. 

"The repeater!" The outlaw yelled through gunfire.

She braced against the stone, slipped off the gun from her shoulder, and glanced out at the scene. Out of the twenty that surrounded her, about seven still stood. The rest either lay on the ground or fled through the trees. Sunlight cast their shadows long, beginning to set over the plains of New Austin, and for the brief moment she glanced at the sunset, her torso slightly raised into view—

Javier was shouting at her. She turned to face him.

 _"Ah!"_ Her shriek rang out before she even realized what happened. She whipped back, features reddened from crying, hands flying to the gun. Her body took control. The repeater was raised, aimed and fired at the assailant faster than he could fire another shot at her. She watched him drop, clutching at his flayed chest with a gurgling howl, collapsing on top of his fallen brother-in-arms.

Thea looked down at the growing blotch of crimson staining through her shirt. Whether the bullet was in her arm or just grazed it, it was gonna hurt like hell. She clutched at it, teeth raking across her lip to distract from the onslaught of pain. 

Those remaining six kept firing, chipping away at the edges of the boulders and through the wagons, leaving no room to move. She had no choice but to let her arm bleed, grabbing the repeater and reloading, grunting with effort. 

Raise. Aim. Fire. Another down. 

One of them was barreling straight for her, and her adrenaline and anger got the best of her. Thea met him head on, brandishing a blade from her thigh-strap and tackling him to the ground, blocking his attempts to choke her out, sinking the knife into his leg as he straddled her, earning a swift punch to her cheek. His face was blurred, scratched away from memory's reach. 

But everything seemed to shatter around her the moment she heard his voice. 

"You goddamn _bitch._ You fucking _traitor!,"_ he grabbed her by the collar and pulled her up, screaming in her face. His hand found her throat, fingernails digging into her skin as he shook her, "Why? Tell me why! _Why?"_

Him.

Draped in the very same clothes she last saw him in. Neither colored flint or grey, but a soft ashen-blue. He'd always look so splendidly beautiful when he wore it, catching her eye the first time they met. 

Tears trickled down her face and found their place on his wrist.

She tried to fight back, but his grip strengthened with every attempt to knock him off. The veins behind her eyes pulsed frantically, corners of her vision going dark. 

"You were one of us. One of us, Thea! Now they're dead, they're all _fucking dead because of you."_

Even if she could answer him, she wouldn't know what to say. His terror and fury bled into her, and a part of her wanted for him to kill her. To end it. By his hands, the same ones she caressed not too long ago. 

The knife fell. She didn't have the strength to hurt him. He was already hurting enough. 

All that she could muster to say was that she was sorry. It came out a bloodied, warbling mess while he dug his nails deeper, screaming something incoherent, his face trembling. 

Things were fading. Shouts and gunshots seemed to blend altogether to a crackling static. The pain in her arm, in her throat, in her chest... subsided. A semblance of peace. 

Warmth came to stroke her cheek, a hand, his. And just like that, she was back in the tent, feeling his touch on her skin as he repeated her name over and over again with love running rampant in his voice, and she wanted to believe that in that moment she loved him too, just didn't know it 'till now. 

He just kept screaming. He wouldn't let up, even though she couldn't hear him anymore. She wanted him to stop, to hold her while she faded, to say farewell as he forced the life out of her. 

Tell him to stop, please, just stop. Enough. 

Thea parted her lips to try and speak, squeezing his hand as she struggled to take breaths, words held back in her throat by his grip. 

"I.. I'm—"

She was cut off by a gunshot. 

Through his forehead, splitting his skull open. Blood splattered on her face, got in her eyes, landed on her lips. 

The hand over her throat went limp, the one on her cheek slid off into her hair. 

His body was pulled off, tossed facedown into the ground with disregard. Everywhere else had gone silent. They're all dead. 

Dead. 

Thea's airways convulsed as she fought to bring air into them, hacking and wheezing, neck pulsating with the fading heat of his fingers. She rolled to her side, digging her hands into the dirt, a convoluted mess of exhaustion and adrenaline. 

She first heard Javier before she saw him—panic flooding his voice as he cupped her face in his hands—ears ringing while she tried to make out what he was saying,"-okay? Look -- me, it's me --, don't -- Thea." 

The outlaw rumbled from behind, angered and frustrated. She couldn't hear him. 

Javier's thumb wiped across her eyes, pushing away the pool of red that blocked her sight. He looked horrified. 

"She's bleeding. Her arm." A third. The friend, staring down at her. 

"You were supposed to be covering her, damn it, why didn't you shoot the motherfucker faster, _Arthur?"_ Javier snapped, the leather of his glove tightening with his fist. 

"Be grateful I even pulled the trigger in the first place. I didn't sign up to babysit the damn woman," he shot back, "if she wants to run out there with death wish then I sure as shit ain't gonna stop her." 

"Enough," barely a whisper, barely anything at all. 

_"Por Dios,_ do you think I give a fuck about any of that bullshit?" Javier stood and almost barreled into the man, sticking a finger in his face then pointing it back to her, "she could've died! And that would've been on _you."_

The outlaw flicked his gaze between her and Javier, visibly seething. "That's not my _goddamn_ problem." 

_"Enough_." Thea rasped, pulling herself to her feet, clutching at her bleeding arm. "Cut your friend down before the law's brought on this place," her throat burned with each word, "there's not much time left." 

Javier was back at her side before she even realized it, coddling and praising and offering his shoulder to lean on. 

_"Get away from me._ " Her voice had been reduced to a low hiss, bloodshot eyes fixing him with a hard glare. He slowed, brokenly watching after her as she limped to steady herself against a tree, struggling to catch her breath. 

A hard thump caught her attention and she looked over to see the captive wriggling on the ground with a broad smile on his face, winking at the outlaw as his ropes were cut. Thea lifted her hand off her arm and found it coated in fresh blood, quickly putting it back and applying pressure with a groan. She needed to tie it off, the little strength she had wouldn't do.

"Oh, I've missed ya Arthur Morgan, missed yer' beautiful face and those big burly arms." She flicked her gaze to the man, and humored in the fact that she didn't put two and two together. "Christ, I almost wet myself watchin' you knock down those bounty hunters, honest to god." 

She traveled her gaze through the camp, numb. Wagons with canned goods and fruits shot through and pouring their contents into the grass, the cabin riddled with holes on all sides, windows blasted through, the door swinging with a hauntingly slow groan. The place was deafeningly silent and brazenly sonorous at the same time. And when her eyes landed on the bodies, she felt as hollow as the buckshot in their chests. No longer men with names and stories and memories, just slumped bags of meat and bones. Perhaps if she shifted her thinking like Van Der Linde's men, it would hurt less. After all, they seemed perfectly fine, as though they just wrapped up a common chore. 

"Come on," the outlaw huffed, pulling the man to stand, glancing towards her then turning back and going on an awful tangent about loyalty and his stupid gang and _shared b_ _onds._ If she weren't teetering between life and death in that moment, she would've gagged. 

The redhead's cheery, newfound affection now targeted her, "and you, pretty as a blackbird, how'd you learn to handle a gun like that, darlin?" 

Javier rolled his eyes and whistled for his horse, turning away. 

Thea muttered something angrily and stared him down. All that trouble for this bratty, annoying little fucker. 

As if he could read her thoughts, the man grinned and crossed his arms, "oh, you'll come to love me eventually, girly, give it a few hours. Now where on God's green earth did Dutch wrangle in this one from?" 

"Get him outta here." The outlaw shoved him towards the horses, "best we ride separately. Javier, will you-" 

"Yeah. Get on." He mounted his horse, hand stretched out to the redhead, evening's shadows hiding his expression. 

"Right. Charles, why don't you take her back to camp, have Swanson..-or Strauss take a look at 'er." 

Thea swayed herself off the tree, desperately in need of water, strands of hair slick against her face. She refused the man's hand of help and pushed herself onto the back of his horse, rivulets of sweat tracking through the lines of dust and dirt settled on her chest. He was careful as he mounted, looking back at her over his shoulder every few seconds, then turned towards the outlaw. "And what about you?" 

"Ah," he waved his arm out to the area, "I'll see what's good for takin' here, then meet you back later." 

She bit her lip and pressed on her wound harder. 

They were moving into the forest, it hurt to turn her neck, but she forced herself to anyways. A farewell of sorts. 

Sunset brightened the cabin into a gentle russet, grasshoppers flitting between blades of grass, songbirds calling the arrival of the day's end. The further away they got, the easier it became to imagine the place abandoned. 

The only outlier being the towering silhouette bending down to grab the man in the ashen-blue suit off the ground by his collar, and firing another bullet into his skull. 

\---

The initial shock from the gunfight wore off about halfway into the ride back, doubling down hot and heavy with searing pain shooting up her arm and a vicious pulsing on her cheekbone. Her throat just burned, on the inside and out, simply taking a breath felt like she was swallowing down thick ash. She broke into a coughing fit as they caught up with Javier and the ex-captee, earning alarmed glances from them both. 

"Oh, lass, you don't look so good." The Irishman dialed down his tone as the two horses matched pace, pity swimming in his gaze. 

Thea tipped her head back and thumbed the corner of her mouth, "thanks." 

"Worry not, though, a long slug o' whiskey will fix ya right up, take my word for it." 

Javier spurred his horse forward until they were barely in view, a blurry outline against the darkening sky. 

She struggled not to fall onto the man's back, eyelids involuntarily fluttering shut every few minutes. A quiet chuckle escaped her as she dwelled on the whiskey suggestion. "Hm...that sounds nice." 

He looked over his shoulder, "what, the silence, or what Sean said?" 

They shared a brief moment of gentle laughter, before she broke into another raspy cough, holding her bleeding arm for dear life. 

A breeze feathered through his long hair, lifting it like it were cradling a friend. She always hated how sentimental and proverbial she grew when incapacitated. It came with the uncertainty of her having a tomorrow. 

"You must be exhausted, try to get some rest and I'll wake you up when we get there." He rolled his shoulders and it reminded her of the same way one would fluff up a pillow before knocking out on it. Everything was hurting, she had no dignity left to say no. 

Thea let herself fall gently, sighing with the alleviated tension as the warmth his back cushioned her scraped face, "sorry for getting blood on your horse." 

"Don't worry, Taima doesn't mind. Do you girl?" 

The horse let out a snort, and Thea, with her fading consciousness, took that as her answer. The rocking movements lulled her into a tranquil doze, the sounds of the forest growing quiet and soft, barely a murmur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read this far you should know that this story isn't going to end well, but hopefully the next chapter will lift the spirits... slightly. :)


End file.
